You'll have to indulge me for a moment when I state that a lot of people reveal on a regular basis that they cannot productively reconcile their annoyance with the world around them.
That's being too kind. The conversation should be narrowed: most people can't reconcile their minds with stuff that annoys them.
Nope, still too much. I'll split this atom once more. Please know that we'll get into exact definitions on just a moment, so as not to offend the sloppy-brained.
*ahem*
People are babies without the proper emotional means to keep from feeling fussy about annoying stuff.
So, we wonder how to write about stuff that annoys us...
I won't cite Webster's Dictionary, because who has time? So I'll cite The Dictionary Of My Life. The Dictionary Of My Life defines "fussy" as:
"That kicking an infant does when it becomes uncomfortable with the world's presence upon their sensory input, confusing whether the infant is tired, confused, hungry, bored, or just wants to be held."
Considering a lot of this fussiness comes out in written words these days—and I won't discount the fussy vlogger, or "video back-logger," today—it felt fitting to discuss how to write about Stuff That Annoys Us.
The easy solution would be to just tell the person to "let it go," but Disney, the most successful multimedia theology operating today attempted that in the year 2012, and they did not succeed -- so what chance to do I have taking the high road? No, instead, I'm going to address the weird grumpy, fussy, hateful, floppy, and annoyed jerks that can't properly catalog their feelings with enough accuracy, resulting in misshapen mutilations of what our future A.I.-overlords would call "thought."
First, Why Do We Write About Stuff That Annoys Us?
Before we discuss how to write about all this, let's ask "why?" The answer is brief: because annoying things trigger an endorphin response. Because it returns a bit of power to our hands. Because the tools to write—the keyboard, the internet connection, and a working command of a language—are available to us.
Because our base reaction is that of a fussy baby-brain, unaware or uncaring toward our output onto the world, just that the output knocks something around. The world to us is a displeasing landscape that must be upset.
We write about stuff that annoys us because we don't know fully know why we're annoyed. We aren't hopeful that the reason will be revealed. That would force us to update our emotional record-keeping with a more specific feeling. Such an update would require change. Change is pain. Change makes you cold, tired, and lonely.
Change is the the chemical difference between the developmental bliss that brought our adolescent brains frothing forth, and our current brains, devoid of raw, happy, hormonal spunk.
Why do we write about stuff that annoys us? Because it's how we get our brains back toward our youth. We want to feel what it felt like THE FIRST TIME. The surprise of peek-a-boo. The unexpected laughter at a dumb joke. The colors pink, purple, and gold for the first time.
Reverting to baby-mode feels GOOD, if only for a moment. Hurtful emotions were shorter back then. Concerns were fewer. Food tasted better. Fun was funner. God was in heaven, and all was right with the world.
We decide to write about stuff that annoys us, stuff like TV, politics, movies, traffic, and photos of other people's vacations on Facebook, because for a moment, it sends your own brain back in time to when you were too stupid to process blame and empathy. Those emotions suck, don't they? Back then, you were expected to have absolutely no responsibility over your soul, instead of just a tiny bit.
Trouble is, countless people thrive on skirting guilt, constantly chasing the dragon of cruelty in their writing and their mindshare. Not only does writing about stuff that annoys us make us feel good on a chemical level, writing about it as a plurality on, say, the internet, pitches a massive tent of hate we can all cluster beneath.
It's warm under there.
How To Write About Stuff That Annoys You
It's fine if stuff annoys you. It doesn't automatically make you a bad person. In fact, I'm doing it right now. Almost everything annoys me. Cloudy days annoy me. Sunny days annoy me. Being around too many people annoys me. Loneliness annoys me.
Horses annoy me. They're monstrous. They're domesticated. If you walk behind them though, they can kill you dead with a kick in the head.
But I don't think every white girl in the neighborhood I grew up in could have been completely wrong, because as far as I can tell from my conversations with them when I was little, horses are really spectacular animals.
I'll mention here that I've ridden horses a bunch of times. The experience has never been bad. That's all I have to say about horses.
The point here is that in reality, that's kinda all I need to say on the subject. Let's review:
- I've mentioned how horses annoy me
- I've mentioned my history with horses
- I've mentioned my personal experience with horses
- I've exhausted my knowledge of horses
For the sake of this example, I didn't bring up a topic that I interact with on a regular basis, something that doesn't factor into my daily commute, or my me-time, or the family and friends that I keep. In fact, horses don't play into my life very much at all.
The closing line when writing about stuff that annoys you should attract conversation. Make an attempt to be proven wrong. I'm not encouraging you should "teach the controversy," as they say, nor should you invite an open forum on fascism's positive characteristics. I should not have to teach that lesson to somebody reading this piece because fascism is not an "annoyance."
What's An Annoyed Person's Writing Look Like?
Words spring to mind. An annoyed person's writing is usually:
- Flailing
- Reaching
- Desperate
- Defensive
- Superior
- Nostalgic
The writing will also likely will have a sexist undercurrent. That's not a joke. A lot of annoyance and frustration is rooted in sex, and few know how to write about that little nerve-ball. If you don't believe me, please pick up a history book or attend an American middle school for 2-3 years.
You'll recognize words like "SUCKS" and "RANT" in the header section if you go looking for an annoyed, fussy jerk-baby who can't line up their thoughts right, lest their mom's scolding from age 6 be proven unerringly correct. To these people, admitting mom was right would metaphorically, publicly, and retroactively mutilate their genitals.
This isn't a problem to be solved today, but it is a problem we can continually solve every day, through constant repetition and human-recognition.
