Demon Days

I do not have an aggression problem. And if I repeat it enough, I’m sure it will become true eventually.

I do not have an aggression problem. What I do have, is a Jekyll and Hyde-like personality lingering in my endorphin gland (which is located around um, here somewhere). I am not aggressive, it takes a lot to really anger me. I will defend myself but rarely, if ever attack. You could follow me around where ever I go in my spare time and you will scarcely even hear me raise my voice in anything other than excitement.

But for some reason, I turn green and hulky whenever I pick up something heavy. It’s a very strange phenomenon, and it hasn’t been around for all that long or I’d be much better aware of it. It’s only for a couple days that I’ve paid attention to it and by now I can pin-point the moment I go into “Apeshit” mode.

I yell at the slightest reason, am rude to others, curse whenever the opportunity arises, and solve problems by kicking them. It’s efficient, but obviously only on short term. That is, if you consider the goal to be doing the job in an enjoyable manner, which I do. It really is strange: We could be having an interesting conversation over the table one moment, and the next I am shouting to get out of my way.

I do not have an aggression problem. I am not “angry” with anyone. I would just like them to step aside when I am holding something heavy, or go and annoy somebody else. It’s nothing personal and I am not a bad person, I just adopt that way of communicating. When I get really pissed, I go quiet for a while, and that is when you want to leave me alone. If I raise my voice, I’m merely enjoying my work.

I do not have an aggression problem. Aggression is functional. As I said once before, I am on the small side compared to my colleagues, so when I kick a tipped flight case in place, I need to put a little more effort into it. I don’t feel like being pushed aside and have someone do it for me; I want it in there fast because everyone is waiting for me. So, I go berserk for a few moments and open the floodgates on aggression, kicking and ramming the snot out of that case until it sits right where it needs to be, after which I turn around to receive a few strange looks.
It might look like I get really pissed because the case isn’t doing what I want it to, but that’s not so. In the words of Maynard James Keenan,

“Anger and aggression are very different emotions. Only one of them is destructive to a personality and it is important to know the difference between these two.”

Those aren’t his exact words and screw me if I remember where I got them from (in fact screw me either way), but the point is clear.

I think it’s that kind of behavior I’ve grown used to, and the reason why I am so gruff a lot of the time. It also seems to be a combination of factors that trigger it, some of which are:
– My colleagues are male or I forget they are female.
– They are people I know and feel comfortable around.
– They’re not my superiors (although I never put much consideration in that).
– I am not their superior (odd but true).
– I am doing physical labor like heavy lifting or something that requires a lot of attention.
Also, stopping or slowing the process down seems very difficult, because I simply forget about it when the occasion arises.
It’s not all the time, either. When I’m going an easy job, I’ll be as enjoyable as a bunnyfly. But so little changes; I still care about those around me and I wouldn’t harm a fly, and I do hope that shows, somehow.

I do not have an aggression problem. They have an aggression problem. But I’m the source of it, and it will turn around on me. Yet another thing to work on by this summer, I suppose?



Norway. Norway Norway Norway Norway. Norway. Norway. Welcome to my life.

Another plan is materializing to go and hike the incomprehensibly beautiful Lysefjord (seriously, check that out) in the first half of May. Plane tickets are now ordered (despite me hating planes) and we are in the process of doing our gear check.

“We”, that is the same crew I went to cross Scotland with, minus one who couldn’t make it. Despite the experience we have both individually and as a group, the planning of this trip is turning out quite difficult. Not only do we have the usual issues on who takes what where how and when, but on top of that we have to map out our route all on our own and decide whether we are actually going to use the overpriced cabins we initially thought were free. If not, that means another 3 kilo’s of tent.

Ahh, kilo’s. A little trekker’s worst enemy. If it were up to me, I’d bring six pairs of spare pants (I lose bladder control when I get scared) and a shovel. The problem is that all these things weigh something, and a lot of something is a lot of weight. Or how gravity always gets the final say.

Last time we carried around fifteen kilo’s each, including water and such. It took one day for my knee to go “fuck this” and give up on me, leaving me limping heavily for the ninety kilometers ahead of us.

A piece of information: Scotland has an “old” topographical landscape. The mountains are rounded and though they can be steep, there are no real cliffs around anywhere. Norwegian fjords on the other hand, are cliffs by definition. Trails there are a lot more difficult than the nicely groomed pathways we previously saw. As a result, heavy gear is out of the question, especially if we want to cover the whole fjord as we intend to.

So make that two pairs of shorts and a can of deodorant to go with that sleeping bag, and we’re off. Ten kilo’s is the absolute maximum, and I’m aiming below that, even. I don’t care much if I reek like a wet dog upon return, if it enables me to return in the first place.

I got to pick the location this time, which instantly provided me with an excuse to go look up an old friend of mine. Rather than seize the opportunity to explore the unexplored, we’re going to the exact region where I’ve been about a dozen times before, and walk the trail I already um, walked. And you know what else? I’m not sorry. If you’re in love with a person, you don’t really mind visiting them a second or third time, do you. So if you were like me and for some twisted reason smitten with a country full of ‘em, you wouldn’t mind “going south” again, either. It’s the country that I’ve grown to love, and in a sense it’s only natural that I tend to look up the region I know best. Make sense? It does to me.


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