I’m an extremely impatient person. Which is funny because very many people who meet me find me to be one of the most patient people they’ve ever met.
In my job I have to be, so I force it, thanks to many months of training, and remembering that “Professional Me” cannot throw the same kind of tantrums “Normal Me” throws at the weekends.
Last night I was at a gig and the band were over twenty minutes late: steam was coming out of my ears, I was close to tears because I was exhausted and already felt guilty anyway because I’d left tons of work at home and instead I was out in Hackney getting drunk and waiting for an indie band who were so rock and roll they didn’t even have the decency to apologise for keeping us all waiting.
Just before they did finally emerge, I very nearly did walk out, and when they did emerge at first I thought: “oh see, maybe it does pay to be patient?” However, the vocals were poor and the lead vocal in general seemed like a strange imitation of Ian Curtis…. Which I wasn’t expecting. And I was left disappointed.
Which is a shame, because I’ve been a fan of their music for months, and live music is supposed to enhance that relationship you have with the music, not leave you feeling sour. If I’d left the gig when I’d wanted to, I actually wouldn’t have missed out on anything.
People do find me terribly impatient and harsh.
Time waits for nobody and neither do I and I guess I’ve always been this way, but even more so after I was diagnosed with epilepsy.
That’s just who I am.
I’ve been joking this week that for Lent I’ve given up being nice. I realise now that although my tolerance threshold can be nonexistent, in the past I have been too nice in giving people another chance anyway: my family, exes, friends – which has all come from fear. Fear of missing out.
Which is why I’m not afraid to be mean anymore.
I apologise for the rambling tonight.