Author: Bev

“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.”  This is a popular saying in this high-tech computer, smartphone age.  We need encouraged to disconnect a bit and give some things a rest.

Have you ever had a telephone IT professional/technician tell you to “turn it off for 20 seconds, then back on?”  Or, “IT Support here, have you tried turning it off and on again?”  And the more brilliant of their troubleshooting questions, “Is it definitely plugged in?”

I may sound like I’m making fun, but often those highly trained technicians hit upon the simplest truth, that if all else fails, disconnect.  Turn the blasted thing off for a bit. 

As the first sentence above says, even our brains benefit from a time-out, a disconnect, or down-time.  God, in fact built in down-time, after six days of creation, which we label Sabbath.

In the book of beginnings, Genesis, the Sabbath, or seventh day was established as a day of rest.  Most Christian churches observe the Sabbath on Sunday, but Jews and a few outstanding Christian denominations observe the Sabbath, as it was established, on Saturday.

Then came Jesus, the consummate Jew who made it clear in the biblical book of Mark, “The Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath.”  This was in defense of some of his disciples, who plucked grain for some food along their path, and were accused by some rule-police of breaking the Sabbath.

But what I remember most about Jesus’ explanation of Sabbath rules had something in my Sunday-school recollection, to do with pulling your wayward goat out of a well or off of a hanging precipice.  As it turns out, when I looked it up, it was an ox in a well in the book of Luke and a sheep in a pit, in the book of Matthew.  Oh well, I got the gist of the sentiment.

Jesus clarified that if we must work on our usual Sabbath day, it’s okay because God the Father made Sabbath as a day of rest, for our benefit.  But it’s not a crisis, as my husband would say, if you must do some necessary work on that day, as long as you observe some sort of day of rest.  The respite is for you.

I admit we have had to dig a few goats out of sticky situations on our Sunday day of rest.  We have had to do the rare yard maintenance at the home of our loved one because of weather constraints and our own yard maintenance schedule.  We meant no offense to those of you resting on that day.

So, a spiritual Sabbath is tradition.  But I wonder if maybe we should establish a technological sabbath as well.  Just turn it off once in a while. 

I reluctantly observe momentary sabbaths from technology.  I admit, I only do this when I’m forced to, by a glitch.  These brief sabbaths, however, as well as the physical and spiritual ones are extremely beneficial for my mental health and overall well-being.

Do you ever want disconnect and silence so badly that you resort to rudeness to get it?  For instance, maybe someone is going over something repetitively, “like a broken record,” screeching and scratching like “fingernails on a chalkboard?”

Perhaps you can’t take it anymore and you picture yourself saying “won’t’ you give it a rest!”  This is fractionally less rude than saying, “shut up!”  When someone goes on and on and on and won’t stop, in order to get them to stop, we want to unplug them like a jukebox in mid-record, brought to a screeching halt.

Don’t you wish, once in a blue moon, that you could unplug and disconnect the world, stop the incessant chatter, just for a blessed, peaceful moment?  Just to catch your breath or exhale, “world, would you just give it a rest!”

I wonder what it would be like in today’s highly buzzed culture if we gave the gift of sabbath rest to one another.  What would it be like if we extended to each other rest from the usual twenty-four-seven expectation to be what we want them to be, do what we want them to do, keep up the pace and stay turned on, tuned in, activated, and jazzed to serve and produce and give and give and give, to my cause?

The expression, “give it a rest,” always appears as a command in the imperative form.   The phrase must be born out of the supply and demand of commerce, as in, “I demand and you supply.”  It’s quite tyrannical and I would like you to note that this woman has taken a sociocultural “chill pill,” and you can “rest assured” that I demand nothing from you today.

(Postscript – This is as she hands her column to her partner for proofreading and says, “I’m on a deadline, so please read now.”)

What is it about what we wear?  I think for some people it’s a big deal and for others it’s “just clothes.”

In fact, some items of apparel are labeled “statement pieces.”  That means, they say something about the wearer; maybe even shout who we are, or who we want to be known as.

Nobody forgets what they wore for their wedding.  I’m guessing most of us remember what we wore at other significant moments in our lives.

What does this say about clothing?  Perhaps clothing is a symbol of our identity, at least to a certain extent.

Surely costumers for film and television, study the characters, setting and tone of the project when they propose wardrobe.  “What do I want to convey through the clothing choices of this character?”

A buttoned-up collar suggests cultural or social frigidity.  A mini skirt on a middle-aged woman might be saying that she’s trying too hard to stay young.  The dark, plain pant suit and plain neutral shirt worn by a female detective says she’s one of the guys.

The frilly, girly chiffon dress screams Stepford Wife, a woman accustomed to “pleasing her man.”  The business suit hollers, “establishment.”   A polo shirt or skort, say “I’m casual and relaxed.”

“Artsy-fartsy” folks wear unusual patterns, styles, and often, colorful clothing which speaks to their creativity.  Uniforms give away “what I do for a living,” …. I’m a postal carrier, a medical professional, a technician for “so and so….”

My husband and I, who work from home, have a bit of a “uniform,” that we wear around the house.  In the summer for my husband, it’s a colorful t-shirt and shorts and in the winter, a long-sleeved colorful t-shirt and jeans.  He’s “plain, Book,” – did you ever watch the movie, Witness?  My uniform in the summer is often a t-shirt as well, with shorts or carpi-pants, and in the winter, sweatshirt and sweatpants – old-fashioned workout clothes, because I work out and I’m old-fashioned.

Through some clothing choices, people, specifically women and girls are deemed, “asking for it,” or blamed for assaults on their person.  I think the best rebuttal of such ridiculous thinking is a current exhibit in Leola, Pennsylvania (Amish country), titled “What they wore.” 

As it turns out, the modest clothing traditions of Anabaptist cultures which include Amish, Mennonite, Brethren, Charity, and other “Plain” churches such as in Holiness, an offshoot of Methodism, do not make little children or women immune to sexual assault.  Organizers of the exhibit of clothing worn by sexual assault victims in these “Plain churches,” are trying to make everyone aware that “you can be harmed no matter what you’re wearing.”

The assailant, not the victim, is the twisted human being in these scenarios.  No one asks to be assaulted.  If a child is wearing a long cotton dress and bonnet or a woman is wearing a tight animal print mini dress and high-as-the-sky heels, and these females are accosted, it’s not the clothing that “made him do it.”

Also, what is it with the new concept of “cultural appropriation,” as a bad thing when we wear clothing associated with other cultures?  If a white woman wears an Asian-inspired garment, or a Hispanic woman wears an African-print or head piece, or we wear jewelry reminiscent of a different culture than our own, it used to be considered done so in honor of that culture.  Today, however, we might be verbally attacked for appropriating a minority culture.  I really don’t get it.

Are you comfortable in your skin?  Is your “I’m okay, you’re okay” attitude reflected in the clothing you wear atop that skin?

Do you iron your clothes, making them “just right,” or do a few wrinkles or creases exemplify a “live a little” position toward life?  Can you live with a stain or small tear in something you wear?  Or is that garment instantly a throw-away?

“Will you be seen” in certain styles and never in others?  Most of us have seen visuals of “what people will wear to Walmart.”  Oh my!  From pajamas to derriere-exposing short-shorts, to what one would consider costumes or t-shirts with messages better kept private, people will wear just about anything, most anywhere – but Walmart is often the destination of those wearing crazy stuff.

There’s also the daring possibility of wearing nothing at all.  A naturist of that sort, I am not, but hey if that works for you…. Nudists are another personality type entirely.  What do you wear, and why?

The United States has long been known as the “land of plenty.”  We as a people have owned our identity as hailing from a nation of economic abundance.

We’ve been trained up from childhood to expect to go out into the world and become economically successful.  But, If we get “some,” we want more.

In the early twentieth century, wealthy business magnate, John D. Rockefeller said, “just a little bit more,” when asked “how much money is enough money.”  I heard it years ago, as “one more dollar.”

When is more, enough?  We’ve all heard it said, “there’s more where that came from.”  Well, here we are in 2022 and I’m not sure about that.

We have a supply chain crisis.  If you’ve shopped for yourself lately, unlike the elite among us who pay others to shop for them, you can easily define “supply chain,” and you know it has gone terribly, terribly wrong.  “Supply chain” was heretofore just a concept in economics books and banter among geeky economists.

To be fair, shortages in supplies started with the pandemic, because of staffing problems, supply shortages were soon followed by an economic slowdown, and now we have inflation.  Essentially inflation is increased prices for consumer goods or an increase in the general cost of living.

As to supply shortages, can you say cat food, or baby formula, or your favorite product which you have been buying “forever,” but cannot find it in any of the stores you frequent, not to mention the internet?  But inflation when experienced by the consumer, not the corporation, means that the cost of your everyday product has increased, in the case of Canola oil, one hundred percent, a jump from $2.89 to $5.85. That’s one item.

When consumers see, and actually observe that the price of one item in their shopping cart has gone up from a couple dollars to several dollars; that’s inflation.  And, it’s more than the 8.5% touted by those who calculate only the increased price of raw materials, and resources to manufacturers of goods.

The decline in purchasing power which explains inflation from the point of view of the consumer, is real.  A decade ago, we joked that our household could count on every home improvement project that we contemplated, was sure to cost in the neighborhood of two hundred dollars.  Now, we can’t seem to do anything for under five hundred dollars; and “there’s always something.”

My family’s weekly shopping trips used to cost about one hundred dollars.  It’s never less than two hundred over recent months.

Obvious reductions in package sizes, labeled “shrinkflation,” is the new norm.  From toilet tissue, to almonds, packages are smaller but prices remain the same or in some instances increased.  We’re not supposed to notice this sly maneuver by manufacturers and advertisers.

Generally, we Americans are used to having “more than enough.”  The economic abundance that our country is known for has spawned some interesting language associated with what we consider “enough.”   Has the “land of plenty,” become the “land of not enough?”

Our language hasn’t changed from the idea of readily available abundance, even though our experience has definitely changed.  One of my pet peeves is the nonsensical phrase, “I agree with you one hundred ten percent.”  In that context, one hundred percent is enough, because it means everything, all, total, or complete.

Or, we frequently go “over and above,” when completing a task.  It’s often not enough to just complete the task, but we have to do more than expected, asked, or called-for.

Have you ever been offered “all you can eat,” in a restaurant?  Or have you been asked to “say when,” after being offered grated cheese on your salad or pasta?  In many instances, in America, we’re still given the opportunity to have “one more.”

When is enough, enough?  Thank you so much for listening to me rant about enough.  Really, thank you very much.  Thanks again.  Merci beau coup.  You’re “more than welcome” to join in.  Thank u….

Once upon a time there was this white rat or was it a baby possum, and a rose-gold ballet slipper shoe, and a sandwich missing a piece of ham.  It happened, but it was in a dream.

In order to process this story, you must be privy to the fact that rats and possums, twinsies in the critter world as far as I’m concerned, give me the creeps.  In actuality, I’ve had few experiences with both of these animals, and this is cause for happiness in my world.

The main gist of the dream was that I picked up the critter and held it in my arms in the baby-holding position and gave it a talking-to about stealing the ham from my sandwich.  This particular rat had anthropomorphized, big, blinky eyes and partly curly hair; not your usual white rat.  This animal was cute only because it was a dream and I made it so in the depths of my unconscious.

The “cuddly rat” and I are “strange bedfellows,” to say the least.  In fact, every detail about the dream was unlikely – from mention of the West coast, ideologically not for me; to rose-gold, not my color palette; ballet-slipper-flats, not my style; to cozying up to a rat-thief, an unlikely buddy.

Dreams aside, Charles Dickens said, “adversity brings a man acquainted with strange bedfellows” (The Pickwick Papers, 1837).  Me becoming friends with a rat-thief is the strangest pairing of bedfellows, ever.

Have you ever been chucked together by some circumstance not of your making, with a person or person with whom you would never have chosen to be acquainted, yet hit it off?  These are strange bedfellows.  They are also, as I’ve experienced, unlikely friendships.

I like having a conglomeration of friends.  Friends from work, from childhood, from school, from neighborhood and family relationships, from every skin color and ethnic background, from mixed religious, economic, social, philosophical and political perspectives, all bring me back to the center.  These humans contribute to my life and make me whole, with my true self firmly centered in the middle where I’m most me.

Homogeneous is boring and dangerously self-centered, if not bigoted.  If your thinking is reinforced only by those who think the same as you, your thinking will never progress beyond your box.  Even if you don’t agree with someone else’s thinking, at least they have made you think outside of your usual, programmed pattern.

Unity can be found within diversity.  Agreement is vital for stability.  But diversity stimulates intellectual curiosity which is vital for progress.  Compromise is a good thing.  It allows for combining the best of many worlds.

One of our first business associates when we started our business over thirty years ago, was a hard nut to crack.  He was crunchy and everything we did for him seemed wrong.  But we persisted and we got over any temptation to harbor hurt feelings.

By the time he passed away, twenty-five years later, we had become just short of friends but we understood each other and had grown into warm colleagues and respected associates.  In the beginning, we never would have predicted such a long and fruitful relationship with this guy.

They are Catholic, when you’re Protestant.  They are Jewish, when you’re Christian.  They are Liberal, when you’re Conservative.  They are Gay and proud, when you’re Straight and happy to be so.  They are struggling with mental illness, when you’re struggling to understand depression, bipolar, or substance dependencies.

These are strange bedfellows, but we all engage in some unlikely friendships, just like cats and dogs.  We shouldn’t be so surprised to find that cats and dogs living under the same roof can become tolerant, if not unlikely friends.  Would you consider becoming strange bedfellows with a rat?

Are we as a society, angrier than we used to be?  Are we so frustrated with our world, as it is, that the least little thing sets us off?

How testy are you?  Are you tetchy?  Does, irritable, or upset frequently, describe you on most days?  This is not a test or valuation of your mental health, or is it?

“That makes me so mad.”  Haven’t we all said it?

Should we have said, “that makes me angry?”  Does it really matter, how we say it?

Are we angry or are we mad?  It seems that there is a fine line between the two.  Both are adjectives, words used to describe, in the case of angry, an emotion related to anger.  The second, as in mad, the word describes something related to serious mental illness, for example, “I think I might be going mad.”

Brits call the American use of mad to describe, “being beside oneself with anger,” maddening or upsetting.  They use the word mad just to describe something insane or crazy.

So, if you’re ticked off beyond belief, is it accurate to describe yourself as mad?  In this case you might be bordering on insane, with strong emotion.

And I wonder if that extreme emotion, such as when we tell a beloved, “I’m mad about you,” may not be “mad” in the sense of insane, but just intensity of feeling.  Could it mean emotion that is out of control, beyond rational thought?

“Being beside oneself with anger,” was the definition of mad as early as the fourteenth century.  After all the word mad derives from the Old English word gemædde which meant “out of one’s mind.”  That pretty much means “really, really angry.”

It’s common to use the word mad in this way, throughout the United States; not so much in the United Kingdom.  Brits don’t like that we Americans use mad to mean angry. In 1781, labeling it a derogatory, “Americanism,” some British word-critic described our use of “mad,” for “angry,” as “not found in any accurate writer, nor used by any good speaker.”

But mad, meaning angry, is not an Americanism, and not new, because Shakespeare used it (Henry IV – although he used mad to mean crazy more often than mad to mean angry); and in the King James Bible, specifically in Acts 26:11 the word mad is used to mean angry.

As it turns out, most dictionaries acknowledge “mad,” as synonymous with “angry.”  Dictionary editors also have found in published works using these two words, that “angry,” is more often used to mean “angry,” than “mad” is used to mean “angry.”

Did you know that it is the job of dictionary writers, not to decide what words mean, but to document how writers across the board in all manner of literature, use certain words?  That’s why most dictionary definitions give you a number of possible usages, such as in engineering, or music, or aeronautics, etc.

So, if the bulk of writers use a word a certain way, dictionaries will reflect that common usage, even though some folks might not like that we use a word “that way.”  This is the case with the word mad.

Language usage is fluid and adaptive to the vagaries of social norms. Dictionaries chronicle, not prescribe how we adapt words to describe our experience in the world. 

Don’t be mad at the dictionary writers.  They’re not mad for documenting what we write.  Although they might be angry from time to time for being blamed, just for being the messenger.

“People are so mad about things these days.”  I’m not so sure that intense anger is anything we can attribute solely to these days.  After all, in the classic 1975 film, Network, the longtime news anchor, Howard Beale started the catchphrase, “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore,” and people everywhere threw up their sashes and joined in his madness.

Whether you’re mad or whether your angry, either way I think it’s accurate to say you are experiencing an extreme emotion.  Most of the dictionary definitions of both words utilize the adjectives, wildly, overcome, extremely, greatly, or strong.

In either case, our mental health is challenged in the current sociopolitical climate.  This might not be new to the times, but it might be new to us as a people.  Take care, out there and please don’t be mad at the messenger.

 

I personally think it was no mistake that Scrooge included the word, “bug” in his snarl about the seasonal generosity that so annoyed him in the beginning of Charles Dickens’, “A Christmas Carol.”  Because, what are bugs if not annoying?  “Humbug.”

I learned from a television documentary that insects are two-thirds of the species on the planet.  Google confirms it as 40% of all known living species or ten to thirty million species of insects inhabiting the planet.  Holy-moly, she exclaimed.

It was in the seventeenth century that the word “bug,” began to be used to describe insects.  Bugs, then were specifically the bed bug, which quietly fed on people at night.  Bugs, as night-time terrors originated with the 1535 Bible known as the “Bug Bible” in which Psalm 91:5 read, “Thou shall not need to be afrayed for eny bugges by night.”  The word, bug, was replaced by the word terror, in later Bible translations.

Bug season has commenced in these parts and I’m not a fan.  Bugs like to bite me.  There must be some sort of invisible extraterrestrial-type of beacon on the surface of my skin that screams to those millions of bug species’, “come and get it, here!”

At least honeybees have the courtesy to die after they’ve stung you.  Not so much the mosquito or spider.  They just keep feasting until they’re made dead by some such person as me.

Carpenter bees just hum you to distraction when they can’t get through impenetrable aluminum gutters or vinyl covered soffits, etc.   Tell me you haven’t witnessed a bug-driven simpleton, like me, swatting at Carpenter bees with a tennis or badminton racket?  But insects are persistent little “buggers.”  I think maybe that’s a bad word in Britain.

Gnats seem to fancy my eyes and I’ve had them try to fly up my nose.  And they also seem to relish making a fool out of humans who walk outdoors especially in the woods, or around ponds, lakes, or swampy places.  We jump and twitch and perform hilarious antics with our arms to recirculate them away from our faces and upper bodies.

Don’t you feel sorry for cows and horses when it’s bug season?  They cope with these creatures that bug them so incessantly, by flailing their nice long tails about and blinking those big, lovely eyes.

An entomologist is an insect specialist.  A similar word, etymologist, is one who studies words, their origins, history and evolution.  So, I see the former as a defender of all things bug and the latter is me, curious about all things connected with the word, bug.

You’ve heard the saying, “put a bug in your ear,” referring to someone planting a suggestion into your mind, that you can’t shake off?  But I’m wondering, have you ever had a bug in your ear?  It’s life altering, not in a good way.

In mechanical engineering, a bug has been identified as a glitch in the system since the early nineteenth century.  A literal bug, a moth, was stuck on an electromechanical computer prototype in 1946 and ever since then, a glitch in your computer system is called a bug.

I’m familiar with spies or detectives bugging folks’ cars or houses, or offices, because I watch a lot of mysteries and crime dramas on television.  How dare they bug your secrets?  What buggers!  There I go, using bad words again; at least it’s not four-letters.

Has something been bugging you?  If you’re in a snipey mood and criticize something or someone, there’s always somebody like my husband, or myself on certain occasions, who defends them and it really bugs you because you’re already in that mood.  Annoying.

This made me wonder if anybody really likes bugs.  I figure Entomologists have to like them a little, since it’s their life-work to engage with them, deeply.  But when they get bitten, tasted for lunch, or stung and swelled up….

I figured, like with everything else, someone would be a defender of bugs if someone such as me criticizes them.  Defense attorneys are always considered dastardly in cop shows.  Someone is always “PO’d” after all.

Bugs just keep at it, don’t they?  They won’t let you be, be, get it, bee?  How loud must I say it for you to get a pun?

I will play defense attorney for the honeybee, because of course they are honeybees.  My husband raises them and has been stung hundreds of times and he usually just brushes them off and moves on.  I have been stung probably a half dozen times and as usual, I react much differently – much like my poison ivy reaction – badly!

There are probably defenders amongst us of the yellow jacket, the wasp, the gnat, ants, carpenter bees and even the spider and mosquito.

It’s buggy outside, and I don’t mean there’s a parade of Amish or Mennonites in town, or a troop of babies going for a ride down the sidewalk or in the park.  An image of myself as a youngster popped into my head.  I pushed doll babies around in an ancient blue and yellow stroller or pram, known as a baby buggy, back when.   I also had a blue wicker baby doll buggy that has been hushed into a corner in our attic.

Don’t judge me if you see me wearing long sleeves and long pants this summer.  It’s because of bugs.  And if you hear this human walking around muttering, “humbug,” you’ll know that I’m probably dealing with some swollen, itchy, mass, someplace on my body and I’m having a hard time getting rid of it.  And it’s bugging me!

Did your mom or grandma darn socks, like mine did?  Nothing was worn out or thrown out until it was beyond repair, or could not be repurposed.

I remember mom using a wooden device that looked like a lemon juicer but without the pointy-end, to darn socks. I imagine it was called something like a “darning-egg?”  Since I’m not that into gadgets or devices, I just stuff my hand up into the sock to identify the tear, and that gets the job done.

“Worn out” is a relative term.  To some folks, for example, a sock might be worn out at the first sign of a hole, usually in the toe, the ball of the foot, or the heel.

The very thought of “darning” a sock is way too old school for a generation where frugality and “darning,” “mending,” or preserving a garment of any sort is not the …de rigueur of the day.  Throw it out when it’s worn out, end of story.

I find myself probably squeezed in between the “throw it out” school and the “sew every rip” school in the college of life.  The line that I cross, is determined by the question, is this a favorite garment?

For example, my husband can be seen around our property wearing a “favorite” red t-shirt which has a distinct hole in the back.  He even gets a suntan at that very spot on his back, every summer.  I say every summer, because he is allowed by his spouse to keep wearing said worn-out t-shirt, year after year.

Get this, I even use my favorite stain remover, Shout, on extraneous stains on that shirt and all of his other “work-shirts,” even though there are paint stains on it from five years ago when he painted the house.  I know, some of you are out there judging me right now.  I don’t care, have at it.  Like I said, there is a line I won’t cross and I won’t have my husband out in our yard working with a salad dressing stain on his work-shirt.

I confess, I have sown underwear.  Eek, did I say that?  They were favorites and I just couldn’t part with them yet.  My dad’s pillow cases, handed down, also get sown, tear after tear.

One rainy afternoon I darned a pair of ridiculously expensive socks that I bought with “rewards points,” from a credit card.  I’m sort of a sucker for good socks.  These were the best winter socks I have ever owned; soft, warm, and comfortable.  In fact, I bought two pairs and wore them nearly continuously around the house and on hikes last winter.

These were quite simply too valuable to me to be thrown out because of a hole, well, to be honest, multiple holes.  But I’m not totally crazy about sewing, darning and revitalizing worn out clothing.  I throw out my husband’s torn socks and many-a-t-shirt has been recycled into the “rag bag.”

But, lately, I’m on a cleaning jag and that means discarding some stuff that hasn’t been used in, well, forever.  My new problem is, the “rag bag,” which has burgeoned into several bags with different categories such as tablecloths, blankets, rags such as those aforementioned old, soft, cotton t-shirts which make the best stainless steel polishing cloths ever, old dish towels, large plastic bags and wrapping from new appliances or tools, plastic tablecloths which work almost like tarps – you get the picture?

So, is anything ever really worn out?  Some folks can repair anything.  Creative minds repurpose all manner of stuff, heretofore destined for the landfill.  And, my husband is a true believer in duct tape as the life-extender of many a pair of work-boots, just sayin’.

And what about the kind of worn out which describes the human being, depleted of energy or enthusiasm?  In one of my favorite movies, The Tailor of Gloucester, the Tailor describes his state as “worn to a frazzle.”  That just about describes the truly worn-out garment as well as the worn-out person after working too hard.

When is hard work too hard?  Make no mistake, mental work can be as exhausting as physical work, and some days….

Between us, my husband and I hail from German, English and French Huguenot ancestry and we do not lack the hard work gene.  But some days, I ask myself, “why does everything have to be so hard?”

Physical hard work might wear a fella out, but sweating and aching muscles, sore joints and the inevitable, cuts, scrapes, and so on, result in a certain kind of satisfaction and reward in a job well-done.  But, the hard work of battling bureaucracy, call centers, “help-lines,” and so on, support the theory that mental hard work can wear a person out to the point of exasperation, or to a “frazzle.”

You’ve heard the expression, “you can’t fix stupid.”  And, some bureaucrats and “telephone support personnel” force you to join their circus, when you really have no inclination to swing on a trapeze today.  Yet, here we are, and they’re wearing me out, beyond repair.