The Rage, or Why I don't belong in an office

It's 3:30pm on a Wednesday, and I'm getting the Rage.

You know the Rage? That simmering, stewing mix of inexplicable anger and frustration that takes over when the end of the work day is in sight, and yet still So Far Away? That restlessness and anxiety and aimless aggression from sitting still and staring at a computer screen too long? I've been getting the Rage a lot lately. Most notably a couple of days last week, and yesterday at about quarter past four.

The fact that it's sneaking in earlier today can't be a good sign. And it's only Wednesday.

Here's the thing. I don't *hate* my job. In many ways, I'm incredibly lucky to have the job I do. But that doesn't change the fact that I want to be outside, my body wants to move, and my brain wants to be utilised for more than answering phones and constantly checking email. And the mornings (always bolstered by the comforting presence of my friend Mocha, these days) never seem too bad - it's coming back from lunch at 3 and the subsequent two hours that make me want to break shit.

Luckily, the Rage tends to dissipate pretty quickly after leaving work. Cycling out all my aggression (made it home in 45 minutes yesterday! Woo hoo!), or the simple fact of being at home, not at work, makes life so much prettier. Last night was a blissful combination of pizza, beer, and chats with friends (online [Lindsay], on the phone [Cecile], AND in real space/time [Martha]), tonight Aram's coming over to watch The Imposters, and tomorrow and Friday will bring a play and salsa dancing, respectively. That's the other silver lining - evenings are magic when you're stuck in an office all day.

In other news, this past weekend was really lovely. Over the course of the two days I cleaned my room (Hoovering and all), watched movies and had a homecooked dinner with Diogo, drinks with Karim, and late-night online chat marathons with many, many friends that I hadn't spoken to in a long while. I've also been spending my lunch breaks with my new dear friend Nisha who works in Student Finance and Support, wherein we spend as much energy on being sardonic and making each other laugh as we do on wolfing down our paninis. Today the electronic automated baby grand piano in the McDonald's (stopped by for a McFlurry) was on the cutting end of our barbs. All sorts of fantasies were detailed in which the piano met a new and inventive kind of gruesome demise. Never have I taken such pleasure in imagining the destruction of what is ostensibly a musical instrument (though I would more readily dub this particular object an instrument of torture).

Maybe it's the November rain in August that's bringing out a darker edge in my sense of humour these days.

Then again, perhaps it's just the Rage.