The other shoe

I've been feeling a frustration so deep about the current political, economic, social, and foreign policy climates that it's bordering on rage. Seriously. I told Sal the other day that if he were in the military and I were facing the prospect of a YEAR without him because the Shrub didn't have the foresight to think about the fucking long-term logistics and anticipate the consequences of alienating the better portion of the free fucking world, I would be angry enough to consider the whole automatic weapon on the White House lawn thing. And this from a pragmatic pacifist, whatever the fuck that is.

The one and only time I ever felt this oppressiveness, this despair of inescapable something-so-bad-I-can't-find-the-right-word-for-it, I was living at home and counting down the days when I could get the hell out of there. So I've got some unaddressed issues, tell me something I don't know. Regardless, the point is, this level of helplessness drives me absolutely bat-shit crazy. I feel like the wild animals you see in zoos, pacing the cages relentlessly. In other news, I hate zoos. I've always empathized with those poor creatures but how depressing that I feel it more acutely now than ever. I realized about a month ago that I've got this undercurrent of anxiety that's familiar but so long-forgotten that I hadn't been able to put my finger on it for awhile.

Well, now I've put my finger on it and it's uncomfortably similar to finding a bomb a split-second before it goes off. Yep, that's definitely it. I'm waiting for the bomb to go off. Figuratively and otherwise.