Annoyed And Frustrated Quotes

The only thing more frustrating than slanderers is those foolish enough to listen to them.

Marsh: Our best efforts were never even a mild annoyance to the Lord Ruler." Kelsier: Ah, but being an annoyance is something that I am very good at. In fact, I'm far more than just a 'mild' annoyance--people tell me I can be downright frustrating. Might as well use this talent for the cause of good, eh?

However, while being able to think about two things at the same time is a terribly convenient, the training it takes to get there is frustrating at best, and at other times rather disturbing. I remember one time I looked for the stone for almost an hour before I consented to ask the other half of me where I'd hidden it, only to find I hadn't hidden the stone at all. I had merely been waiting to see how long I would look before giving up. Have you ever been annoyed and amused with yourself at the same time? It's an interesting feeling, to say the very least.

At times the whole world seems to be in conspiracy to importune you with emphatic trifles. Friend, client, child, sickness, fear, want, charity, all knock at once at thy closet door and say,—'Come out unto us.' But keep thy state; come not into their confusion. The power men possess to annoy me I give them by a weak curiosity. No man can come near me but through my act.

Whether or not there was room in her life for Tamani, Laurel knew that there was precious little room in Tamani's life for anything but Laurel. He lived to protect her, and he'd never failed her. Annoyed her, frustrated her, hurt her, maddened her - but never once failed her.

Because no one frustrates me quite as much as you do." Totally true. "Soon, the thought of your face will do it, but now, it seems I need your annoying presence as well.

If you first take a minute, an hour or a month to let go of feeling annoyed, frustrated or critical of the person or situation that may be driving you crazy, you set yourself up for much greater leadership and personal success.

My annoyance became frustration, which became anger, which became hate, and hate is a long-burning fuel.

You don’t have to be positive all the time. It’s perfectly okay to feel sad, angry, annoyed, frustrated, scared, or anxious. Having feelings doesn’t make you a ‘negative person.’ It makes you human.

Yesterday Allison bought me nail polish in the annoying shade of mauve. How can anyone look at me and think mauve?

The fact that we experience anxiety and annoyance is the certain sign that, in the unconscious, there is an emotional program for happiness that has just been frustrated.

Your job is to try to determine what the people in your life are trying to teach you. You’ll find that if you do this, you’ll be far less annoyed, bothered, and frustrated by the actions and imperfections of other people.

We had enough years in front of us to be serious and grown-up and respectable. Why rush it? But on the other hand we always complained when teachers and other adults treated us as kids. In fact there was nothing that annoyed me more. So it was a frustrating situation. What we needed was a two-sided badge that said 'Mature' on one side and 'Childish' on the other. Then at any moment we could turn it to whatever side we felt like being and the adults could treat us accordingly.

Despite our disapproval with what God allows us to endure, he still remains the same God that is not interested in our convenience, as much as our character.

It is a strange thing that the human species can only go three days without water and three weeks without food, before the body dies. Yet, so many people can go years hanging onto pain and feeling emotionally dead inside. I suppose if it was the other way around more people would go to school to be morticians because of the booming business, or pastors would have to hand out Valium with the sacrament, just to keep the census high.

I'm not talking about loving someone in expectation of anything in return. I'm talking about loving someone because of who they are. Because of the way they talk, they smile, they fight; because of what they say and what they believe; because of all the wonderful, annoying, beautiful, frustrating, stupid, lovely, embarrassing things they do and they are. Because they are the one person in all the world who makes you finally understand how perfectly, intricately amazing a human being can be. And if they do not love me it changes nothing, because I will not love them so they love me, I will love them because I have no other choice.

The most frustrating thing in the world, even more annoying than woke students who complain about every little microaggression, is a fundamentalist who is racist, homophobic & misogynistic, but is always crying about how unjust the world is. Most people in the Middle East are in fact not politically correct at all, do not want to be, and hate the guts of anyone who is.

When you talk about any difficulties with money, a relationship, an illness, or even that the profits of your business are down, you are not talking about what you love. When you talk about a bad event in the news, or a person or situation that annoyed or frustrated you, you are not talking about what you love. Talking about the bad day you had, being late for an appointment, getting caught in traffic, or missing the bus are all talking about what you don’t love. There are many little things that happen each day; if you get caught up in talking about what you don’t love, every one of those little things brings more struggle and difficulty to your life. You have to talk about the good news of the day. Talk about the appointment that went well. Talk about how you love being on time. Talk about how good it is to be full of health. Talk about the profits you want your business to achieve. Talk about the situations and interactions you had in your day that went well. You have to talk about what you love, to bring what you love to you.

The hard silence between frustrated people always feels cluttered. But holy silence is spacious and inviting. You can drink it down. We offer it to ourselves when we work, rest, meditate, bike, read. When we hike by ourselves, we hear a silence still pristine with crunching leaves and birdsong. Silence can be a system of peace, which is mercy, easily offered to a friend needing quiet, harder when the person is one's own annoying self.

She’d ceased spying upon him, that was true, but the damage was done. Every time he sat at his desk, he could feel her eyes upon him, even though he knew very well she’d shut her curtains tight. But clearly, reality had very little to do with the matter, because all he had to do, it seemed, was glance at her window, and he lost an entire hour’s work. It happened thus: He looked at the window, because it was there, and he couldn’t very well never happen to glance upon it unless he also shut his curtains tight, which he was not willing to do, given the amount of time he spent in his office. So he saw the window, and he thought of her, because, really, what else would he think of upon seeing her bedroom window? At that point, annoyance set in, because A) she wasn’t worth the energy, B) she wasn’t even there, and C) he wasn’t getting any work done because of her. C always led into a bout of even deeper irritation, this time directed at himself, because D) he really ought to have better powers of concentration, E) it was just a stupid window, and F) if he was going to get agitated about a female, it ought to be one he at least liked. F was where he generally let out a loud growl and forced himself to get back to his translation. It usually worked for a minute or two, and then he’d look back up, and happen to see the window, and the whole bloody nonsense cycled back to the beginning.

Losing something mediocre can feel frustrating or annoying, but losing something beautiful comes with a desperate form of sadness.

Okay,” I mumble, completely bemused, bewildered, and shell-shocked. He leans over my desk. What now? I am caught in his hypnotic gaze. “Love doing business with you, Mrs. Grey.” He leans in closer as I sit paralyzed, and he plants a soft tender kiss on my lips. “Laters baby,” he murmurs. He stands abruptly, winks at me, and leaves. I lay my head on my desk, feeling like I’ve been run over by a freight train – the freight train that is my beloved husband. He has to be the most frustrating, annoying, contrary man on the planet. I sit up and frantically rub my eyes. What have I just agreed to?

Lottie, I love you. You’re beautifully frustrating, annoyingly right most of the time, and you bring me more joy than I ever thought I’d be lucky enough to have. You complement my surly attitude. You put me in my place when I need it, and you listen to me when I need a listening ear. Plain and simple, you complete me, and I know for certain, I can’t live this life without you in it.” He pops open the ring box, revealing a beautiful, cushion-shaped diamond ring with diamond accents on the band. It’s different than the current ring on my finger, edgier, just like me. “I love you so goddamn much. Please, would you accept the contract, and will you also do me the honor of being my wife?

Create the reality you want to live in by beginning the process of having the kind of conversations (with yourself and others) that actually shape that reality. A simple way that I reframe my own everyday “problems” is by relating to them as opportunities. They instantly become items in my life that I use to educate and expand myself. I become curious and engaged with them rather than my usual default annoyed and frustrated self!

Most of us are unaware of how important vocabulary is to emotion skills. As we’ve seen, using many different words implies valuable distinctions—that we’re not always simply angry but are sometimes annoyed, irritated, frustrated, disgusted, aggravated, and so on. If we can’t discern the difference, it suggests that we can’t understand it either. It’s the difference between a rich emotional life and an impoverished one. Your child will inherit the one you provide.

Statistics show that the nature of English crime is reverting to its oldest habits. In a country where so many desire status and wealth, petty annoyances can spark disproportionately violent behaviour. We become frustrated because we feel powerless, invisible, unheard. We crave celebrity, but that’s not easy to come by, so we settle for notoriety. Envy and bitterness drive a new breed of lawbreakers, replacing the old motives of poverty and the need for escape. But how do you solve crimes which no longer have traditional motives?

You talk about your feelings. It's annoying and frustrating [...] But that's the point. You have to try. Because if you don't bother trying, then what's the point in being in a relationship?

The original draft made you feel dumb, alienated at times, and frustrated with the self-righteousness of it all. It stank of all the most annoying things about Athena. The new version is a universally relatable story, a story that anyone can see themselves in.

I love your personality," I said with wide eyes and an open smile. I had used this look before when a bank teller at Wells Fargo had threatened to put a ten-day hold on a check from my father because my average balance was $3.56.

Mark says that when I am frustrated his I love you means it's okay for me to be frustrated - a reminder that my feelings are situational and temporary. "And because I love you even when you are annoyed and I want you to know," he adds.

Every temptation proves a crossroad where we must choose between the high road and the low road. On some occasions it is a trial of agonizing frustration. On other occasions, it is a mere annoyance, a nuisance of minor proportions. but in each case there is some element tot uneasiness, anxiety, and spiritual tugging--ultimately a choosing that forces us to take sides. Neutrality is a nonexistent condition in this life. We are always choosing, always taking sides. That is part of the human experience--facing temptations on a daily, almost moment-by-moment basis--facing them not only on the good days but on the days we are down, the days we are tired, rejected, discouraged, or sick. Every day of our lives we battle temptation--and so did the Savior. It is an integral part of the human experience, faced not only by us but also by him. He drank from the same cup.

Listening to them laugh makes my brain do that annoying thing where it immediately thinks the worst. My therapist says it’s part of my anxiety—expect bad stuff as opposed to good things so I won’t be hurt. Anxiety plays the most frustrating mind game.

A bleeding useless prince." "Annoying, frustrating, a veritable pain in the ass- but not useless

I have to admit I was annoyed. Not physically annoyed, but inside annoyed. That helpless feeling you have when you know you should not be angry because you have to consider how other people are feeling or accept them for what they are, and that it is not your place to say anything. But annoyed because you have not been considered in the whole picture, you are there and that is that. Apologies begin to mean nothing at that point and frustration takes over.

Look,Nik.I can't lose you. We can be partners.With you by my side,and with the band backing us,we could take over. I want you by my side in the High Court?" "What does that even mean? We'd be...together? Like, together, together?" Cole gave a sly smile. "We'd rule hand in hand. And as far as being together, we'd be as together as you'd allow." Annoyingly,my cheeks got all warm, and I turned away, frustrated at my reaction. I stood and went over to my desk chair to sit down. Cole chuckled. He pushed himself off the floor and walked closer to me,and the Shade at my shoulder pulled toward him. I wanted to hit it. "Stay over there," I said. "Why?" He held his hands up, all innocent-like. "Does my nearness affect you? That's what happens when you spend a century with someone.

One soldier in the Ypres Salient, at Messines, Belgium, wrote of the frustration of the trench stalemate. “We are still in our old positions, and keep annoying the English and French. The weather is miserable and we often spend days on end knee-deep in water and, what is more, under heavy fire. We are greatly looking forward to a brief respite. Let’s hope that soon afterwards the whole front will start moving forward. Things can’t go on like this for ever.” The author was a German infantryman of Austrian descent named Adolf Hitler.

Whereas the craftsman mindset focuses on what you can offer the world, the passion mindset focuses instead on what the world can offer you. This mindset is how most people approach their working lives. There are two reasons why I dislike the passion mindset (that is, two reasons beyond the fact that, as I argued in Rule #1, it’s based on a false premise). First, when you focus only on what your work offers you, it makes you hyperaware of what you don’t like about it, leading to chronic unhappiness. This is especially true for entry-level positions, which, by definition, are not going to be filled with challenging projects and autonomy—these come later. When you enter the working world with the passion mindset, the annoying tasks you’re assigned or the frustrations of corporate bureaucracy can become too much to handle. Second, and more serious, the deep questions driving the passion mindset—“Who am I?” and “What do I truly love?”—are essentially impossible to confirm. “Is this who I really am?” and “Do I love this?” rarely reduce to clear yes-or-no responses. In other words, the passion mindset is almost guaranteed to keep you perpetually unhappy and confused, which probably explains why Bronson admits, not long into his career-seeker epic What Should I Do With My Life? that “the one feeling everyone in this book has experienced is of missing out on life.

Listening to them laugh makes my brain do that annoying thing where it immediately thinks the worst. My therapist says it’s part of my anxiety—expect bad stuff as opposed to good things so I won’t be hurt. Anxiety plays the most frustrating mind games.

the lie coming. “Rough doesn’t even cut it. I’m sorry, my cell is acting up.” Distracted, he moved his hands underneath my jacket and ran them along my stomach. “You smell like you’ve been to a frat party,” I spat, frustrated. Unable to hide my annoyance

Oh. I see. So your grace never curses.” “I do not.” “Words like cor . . . bollocks . . . damn . . . devil . . . blast . . . bloody hell . . .” She pronounced the words with relish, warming to her task. “They don’t cross a duchess’s lips?” “No.” “Never?” “Never.” Miss Simms’s fair brow creased in thought. “What if a duchess steps on a tack? What if a gust of wind steals a duchess’s best powdered wig? Not even then?” “Not even when an impertinent farm girl provokes a duchess to a simmering rage,” she replied evenly. “A duchess might contemplate all manner of cutting remarks and frustrated oaths. But even in the face of extreme annoyance, she stifles any such ejaculations.” “My,” Miss Simms said, wide-eyed. “I do hope dukes aren’t held to the same standard. Can’t be healthy for a man, always stifling his ejaculations.” Griff promptly broke the prohibition against elbows on the table, smothering a burst of laughter with his palm and disguising it as a coughing

You never annoy me,” he says. I look up, catch him watching me. My laugh is breathless, woozy. “We both know that’s not true.” He studies me for a second, brow furrowed. “Frustrate, maybe. Not annoy.” “What’s the difference?” I ask. His eyes drop to my legs and back up. “When you’re annoyed, you don’t want to be around a person.” His chin shifts to the left, not quite a shake of his head. “I always want to be around you.

But most people live a life of quiet mediocrity and never achieve the success they truly desire because they get impatient. They want easy success or none at all. They see the path to success as a frustration, an impediment. Each day spent short of the ultimate goal is viewed as a time of failure and as an annoyance. As such, they get distracted by hundreds of little things that each day try to get us off our course. Yet the successful among us know the truth:

Many conscientious environmentalists are repelled by the word "abundance," automatically associating it with irresponsible consumerism and plundering of Earth's resources. In the context of grassroots frustration, insensitive enthusing about the potential for energy abundance usually elicits an annoyed retort. "We have to conserve." The authors believe the human family also has to _choose_. The people we speak with at the recycling depot or organic juice bar are for the most part not looking at the _difference_ between harmony-with-nature technologies and exploitative practices such as mountaintop coal mining. "Destructive" was yesterday's technology of choice. As a result, the words "science and technology" are repugnant to many of the people who passionately care about health, peace, justice and the biosphere. Usually these acquaintances haven't heard about the variety of constructive yet powerful clean energy technologies that have the potential to gradually replace oil and nuclear industries if allowed. Wastewater-into-energy technologies could clean up waterways and other variations solve the problem of polluting feedlots and landfills.

As women, we are continuously told to live in the cracks of a world shaped by and for men, without complaining or demanding. Without being angry. So we adapt, and when we do, we use familiar minimizing expressions to describe what we feel: 'It was annoying.' 'I was so frustrated.' 'I can’t believe he said that.' 'I’m so disappointed.

That I was an adult who was allowed to be frustrated with her annoyed her whether she verbalized it or not.

You get to decide who hurts your feelings. You get to decide who pierces your heart, frustrates you, and annoys you. People can take away your livelihood, your possessions, and even your life—but you get to choose who hurts you.

It's her! Selene! Your Majesty!" Cinder took a step back and felt her serenity slough away, leaving behind the same tension she'd lived with for two long years. That feeling of being in the spotlight, of having responsibilities, of needing to meet expectations... "Why did you abdicate the throne?" someone yelled. And another: "How does it feel to be back on Earth?" And "Will you attend the Commonwealth ball again this year?" And "Is the upcoming Lunar-Earthen wedding a political statement? Do you want to say anything about the union? A loud gunshot blared across the gravel driveway. The journalists screamed and dispersed, some cowering behind the Rampion's landing gear, others rushing back to the safety of their own hovers. "I'll give you a statement," said Scarlet, reloading the shotgun in her arms as she marched toward them. She sent a piercing glare at the journalists who dared to peek out at her. "And the statement is, Leave my guests alone, you pitiful, news-starved vultures." With a frustrated huff, she looked up at Cinder, who had been joined by the others at the top of the ramp. Scarlet looked much the same as Cinder remembered her, only more frenzied. Her eyes had an annoyed, bewildered look to them as she gestured haplessly at the farmland behind her. "Welcome to France. Let's get you inside before they send out the android journalists -they're not as easy to scare off.

Say what?" "I love you." "I just wanted to hear the words. You didn't actually use them." "But I'm still frustrated you said it first." "Milo, your boyfriend just admitted he's crazy in love with you, and you're annoyed he said it before you?" "Yes, yes I am." I laughed. "God, I love you.

Why am I a habitual reductionist? Why do I reduce God in this moment to mere annoying frustration? Why do I reduce The Greatest to the lesser instead of seeing the lesser, this mess, as reflecting The Greatest? I have to learn how to see, to look through to the Largeness behind all the smallness. Isn’t He here?

Spirits and ghosts are probably powerless creatures, you know. I know they’re supposed to be able to influence humans — to be able to read their minds, and so on. But they don’t have physical power over people, or objects; I don’t think they can even see them. And what happens when from the other side they try to reach people whose minds are insensitive, and who don’t react? Or who are too sensitive, so they overreact? I’m sure lines get crossed all the time: it must be easy for a ghost to get frustrated and lose interest. Besides, after a while, seeing into people’s minds must get quite boring and annoying. And aren’t ghosts supposed to be bundles of irritation and resentment? No, I dread dying all the more when I think of such an eternally painful existence. If anything, I envy people who can believe in nothingness after death.

We’re at a holiday ball where I’m auctioning off the paintings my dead husband commissioned for his mistress. Does it sound like I’ve been treated kindly thus far?” A flush imbued her cheeks with a red glow as she huffed in annoyance. The Bryony he’d known prior to her marriage had been polite and a tad stiff in his presence—a genteel lady careful with her manners. This show of frustration intrigued him. I can’t afford to be intrigued.

For overthinkers, whose feelings and thoughts about their loss linger much longer than those of nonoverthinkers, the social time clock for “getting over” loss is really punishing. People become tired, even annoyed, with overthinkers for continuing to talk about their loss. They may simply withdraw, or if they can’t withdraw, they may eventually blow up at the overthinker, expressing anger and frustration rather than sympathy and concern.

Griffin stripped free of his rucksack and gear, and hissed under his breath, frustrated and annoyed with his aching body for having the audacity to be such a whiny baby. He was only thirty-nine, but after the grueling morning, he felt as old as Methuselah. He grabbed two Motrin from one of the desk drawers nearby and dry-swallowed them. Back in the Army, he used to pop them like candy. But today, hell, the last two weeks, he’d been feeling more like a new recruit, and it sucked

In our day to day life we go through various activities which may involve high work pressure and high workload and as per us, we feel that this burden of work is resulting in causing frustration. Though we don't realize that it is not the workload which causes this frustration and annoyance but rather it is our negligence in the proper management of that work. If you avoid mismanagement of your work and duties you are likely to face frustration, annoyance, and grievance much lesser.

More specifically, this book has the following goals—which I do not think you will find presented, all together, in any other book about acquiring mental health and happiness. • It encourages you to have and to express strong feelings when something goes wrong with your life. But it clearly distinguishes between your feeling healthily and helpfully concerned, sorry, sad, frustrated, or annoyed and your feeling unhealthy and destructively panicked, depressed, enraged, and self-pitying.

It is truely said that 'expectation indeed feeds frustration and anger'. You often don't realize that the anger and annoyance that shapes within you is because the situations and circumstances that you are currently facing has not met with your expectations. You get disappointed when the outcome you expect is not met with series of situations taking place right now in your life. The only factor which can help you resist this emotion is when you allow yourself to be pleasant with your existing situations.

I am not sure who started this chicken-and-egg problem, but as we consumers encounter offensive service, we become angrier and tend to take it out on the next service provider—whether or not he or she is responsible for our bad experience. The people receiving our emotional outbursts then go on to serve other customers, but because they are in a worse mood themselves, they aren’t in a position to be courteous and polite. And so goes the carousel of annoyance, frustration, and revenge in an ever-escalating cycle.

We need to straighten out some personal matters between us. Why don't we do it over dinner tonight?" he suggested. Lauren courteously refused with a half truth. "I'm sorry, I already have a date." "All right,how about tomorrow night?" he asked,holding out his hand for hers. Lauren plunked his messages into his outstretched palm. "You already have a date-Miss Moran at seven at the Recess Club." Nick ignored that reminder. "I'm leaving for Italy on Wednesday-" "Have a good trip," Lauren interrupted lightly. "I'll be back on Saturday," he continued with a trace of impatience. "We'll go-" "Sorry," Lauren said with an amused little smile that was intended to annoy him. "I'm busy Saturday, and so are you. Vicky called to find out if the party Saturday night is formal or not." And then because she was thoroughly relishing his visible frustration, she added with a dazzling smile, "She calls you Nicky.I think that's adorable-Vicky and Nicky." "I'll break the date," Nick stated tersely. "But I won't break mine.Now,is there anything else?

Ian, about Elizabeth Cameron. Her duenna said some things-“ That alarmingly pleasant yet distant smile returned to Ian’s face. “I’ll spare you further conversation, Duncan. It’s over.” “The discussion or-“ “All of it.” “It didn’t look over to me!” Duncan snapped, nudged to the edge by Ian’s infuriating calm. “That scene I witnessed-“ “You witnessed the end.” He said that, Duncan noted, with the same deadly finality, the same amused calm with which he’d spoken of his grandfather. It was as if he’d resolved matters to his complete satisfaction in his own mind, and nothing and no one could ever invade the place where he put them to rest. Based on Ian’s last reaction to the matter of Elizabeth Cameron, she was now relegated to the same category as the Duke of Stanhope. Frustrated, Duncan jerked the bottle of brandy off the table at Ian’s elbow and splashed some into his glass. “There’s something I’ve never told you,” he said angrily. “And that is?” Ian inquired. “I hate it when you turn all pleasant and amused. I’d rather see you furious! At least then I know I still have a chance of reaching you.” To Duncan’s boundless annoyance, Ian merely picked up his book and started reading again.

Ribs hurting?" When he only shrugged, she shook her head. "Let me take a look." "She barely caught me." "Oh,for heaven's sake." Impatient, Keeley did what she would have done with one of her brothers: She tugged Brian's T-shirt out of his jeans. "Well,darling,if I'd known you were so anxious to get me undressed,I'd have cooperated fully,and in private." "Shut up.God, Brian, you said it was nothing." "It's not much." His definition of not much was a softball-size bruise the ribs in a burst of ugly red and black. "Macho is tedious, so just shut up." He started to grin,then yelped when she pressed her fingers to the bruise. "Hell, woman,if that's your idea of tender mercies, keep them." "You could have a cracked rib. You need an X ray." "I don't need a damned-ouch! Bollocks and bloody hell, stop poking." He tried to pull his shirt down, but she simply yanked it up again. "Stand still,and don't be a baby." "A minute ago it was don't be macho, now it's don't be a baby. What do you want?" "For you to behave sensibly." "It's difficult for a man to behave sensibly when a woman's taking his clothes off in broad daylight. If you're going to kiss it and make it better, I've several other bruises. I've a dandy one on my ass as it happens." "I'm sure that's terribly amusing.One of the men can drive you to the emergency room" "No one's driving me anywhere. I'd know if my ribs are cracked as I've had a few in my time.It's a bruise, and it's throbbing like a bitch now that you've been playing with it." She spotted another, riding high on his hip,and gave that a poke. This time he groaned. "Keeley,you're torturing me here." "Im just trying..." She trailed off as she lifted her head and saw his eyes. It wasn't pain or annoyance in them now. It was heat,and it was frustration. And it was surprisingly gratifying. "Really?" It was wrong,and it was foolish, but a sip of power was a heady thing.She trailed her fingers along his hip, up his ribs and down again, and felt his mucles quiver. "Why don't you stop me?" His throat hurt. "You make my head swim. And you know it." "Maybe I do.Now.Maybe I like it." She'd never been deliberately provocative before. Had never wanted to be. And she'd never known the thrill of having a strong man turn to putty under her hands. "Maybe I've thought about you, Brian,the way you said I would." "You pick a fine time to tell me when there's people everywhere, and your father one of them.

There are so many ways a plan can go wrong, some of which you can control and some of which you can’t, all of which will frustrate your Monitor.1 For example, imagine you’re working toward a simple goal: driving to the mall. And you know it usually takes about, say, twenty minutes. If you’re getting all green lights and you’re zipping right along, that feels nice, right? You’re making progress more quickly and easily than your Monitor expects, and that feels great. Less effort, more progress: satisfied Monitor. But suppose you get stuck at a traffic light because someone isn’t paying attention. You feel a little annoyed and frustrated, and maybe you try to get around that jerk before the next light. But once you’ve hit one red light, you end up stuck at every traffic light, and with each stop, your frustration burns a little hotter. It’s already been twenty minutes, and you’re only halfway to the mall. “Annoyed and frustrated” escalates to “pissed off.” Then you get on the highway, and there’s an accident! While ambulances and police come and go, you sit there, parked on the highway for forty minutes, fuming and boiling and swearing never to go to the mall ever again. High investment, little progress: ragey Monitor.

I’m more than my anxiety, more than my depression, more than the things that cause my aggression. I’m more than my guilt, more than my desperation, more than the things that provide me frustration. I’m more than my resentment, more than the emotions I try to hide, more than the things that eat me up inside. I’m more than my indecision, more than my doubt, more than the things that make me want out. I’m more than my setbacks, more than my fatigue, more than the things that harm my physique. I’m more than my loneliness, more than my annoyance, more than the things that cause my avoidance. I’m more than my failures, more than my profanity, more than the things that cause my insanity. I’m more than my sadness, more than my irritability, more than the things that cause my fragility. I’m more than my sweaty palms, more than my shortness of breath, more than the things that drive me to death. I’m more than my pain, more than my blues, more than the alcohol I abuse. I’m more than my trembling, more than my shaky voice, more than the things that provide me such noise. I’m more than my restlessness, more than my tears, more than the insecurities that have plagued me for years. I’m more than the ear can hear, more than the heart can feel, more than the eye can see, I’m beautifully me.

Wes Sinclair tossed his cell phone onto his desk, dropped his head into his hands, and pressed the base of his palms against his eyes in a futile attempt to stem the sudden throbbing in his temples. “I can’t believe she fucking did it again,” he muttered irritably to himself. “Who did what again?” The amused voice of Connor Prescott, one of his business partners, only spiked Wes’s displeasure. So much for being alone and being able to vent his frustration. Instead, he lowered his hands and glared at his good friend, who was also directly related to the person Wes was currently annoyed with. He watched as Connor casually sauntered into the office, the dust on his jeans an

Prince Arctic?” A silvery white dragon poked her head around the door, tapping three times lightly on the ice wall. Arctic couldn’t remember her name, which was the kind of faux pas his mother was always yelling at him about. He was a prince; it was his duty to have all the noble dragons memorized along with their ranks so he could treat them according to exactly where they fit in the hierarchy. It was stupid and frustrating and if his mother yelled at him about it one more time, he would seriously enchant something to freeze her mouth shut forever. Oooo. What a beautiful image. Queen Diamond with a chain of silver circles wound around her snout and frozen to her scales. He closed his eyes and imagined the blissful quiet. The dragon at his door shifted slightly, her claws making little scraping sounds to remind him she was there. What was she waiting for? Permission to give him a message? Or was she waiting for him to say her name — and if he didn’t, would she go scurrying back to the queen to report that he had failed again? Perhaps he should enchant a talisman to whisper in his ear whenever he needed to know something. Another tempting idea, but strictly against the rules of IceWing animus magic. Animus dragons are so rare; appreciate your gift and respect the limits the tribe has set. Never use your power frivolously. Never use it for yourself. This power is extremely dangerous. The tribe’s rules are there to protect you. Only the IceWings have figured out how to use animus magic safely. Save it all for your gifting ceremony. Use it only once in your life, to create a glorious gift to benefit the whole tribe, and then never again; that is the only way to be safe. Arctic shifted his shoulders, feeling stuck inside his scales. Rules, rules, and more rules: that was the IceWing way of life. Every direction he turned, every thought he had, was restricted by rules and limits and judgmental faces, particularly his mother’s. The rules about animus magic were just one more way to keep him trapped under her claws. “What is it?” he barked at the strange dragon. Annoyed face, try that. As if he were very busy and she’d interrupted him and that was why he was skipping the usual politic rituals. He was very busy, actually. The gifting ceremony was only three weeks away. It was bad enough that his mother had dragged him here, to their southernmost palace, near the ocean and the border with the Kingdom of Sand. She’d promised to leave him alone to work while she conducted whatever vital royal business required her presence. Everyone should know better than to disturb him right now. The messenger looked disappointed. Maybe he really was supposed to know who she was. “Your mother sent me to tell you that the NightWing delegation has arrived.” Aaarrrrgh. Not another boring diplomatic meeting.

Her first really great role, the one that cemented the “Jean Arthur character,” was as the wisecracking big-city reporter who eventually melts for country rube Gary Cooper in Frank Capra’s Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936). It was the first of three terrific films for Capra: Jean played the down-to-earth daughter of an annoyingly wacky family in Capra’s rendition of Kaufman and Hart’s You Can’t Take It With You (1938), and she was another hard-boiled city gal won over by a starry-eyed yokel in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939). “Jean Arthur is my favorite actress,” said Capra, who had successfully worked with Stanwyck, Colbert and Hepburn. “. . . push that neurotic girl . . . in front of the camera . . . and that whining mop would magically blossom into a warm, lovely, poised and confident actress.” Capra obviously recognized that Jean was often frustrated in her career choice.

This is a small book about a very important subject. A lot has been written about trust: about what it is and what it can do for people, families, companies, communities and countries. As an executive coach and consultant I often find myself engaged by companies where good work is being sabotaged by interpersonal conflict, political infighting, paralysis, stagnation, apathy, or cynicism. I almost always trace these problems to a breakdown in trust. It not only kills good work, it also inevitably creates some degree of misery, annoyance, fear, anger, frustration, resentment, and resignation. By contrast, in successful companies where people are innovative, engage in productive conflict and debate about ideas, and have fun working together, I find strong trusting relationships. As a result, I’ve come to believe having the trust of those you work with is too important not to be intentional about building and maintaining it.

The philosopher Alain de Botton has written that we will all “marry the wrong person.” It’s a claim that often provokes a strong reaction. But de Botton is not making a case for divorce. Quite the opposite. He argues that, to make marriage work, we need to deal with the inevitable imperfections of our partners. De Botton wants us to reject the “founding Romantic idea upon which the Western understanding of marriage has been based the last two hundred and fifty years: that a perfect being exists who can meet all our needs and satisfy our every yearning.” In reality, “every human will frustrate, anger, annoy, madden and disappoint us—and we will (without any malice) do the same to them.” How to solve this unsolvable problem? An array of psychological research studies show that in most healthy relationships, people see their partners through rose-tinted glasses: We see them as better people than objective analysis would justify.

When I came here, pretending to be Taryn, you said you'd sent me messages,' I say. 'You seemed surprised I hadn't gotten any. What was in them?' Cardan turns to me, hands clasped behind his back. 'Pleading, mostly. Beseeching you to come back. Several indiscreet promises.' He's wearing that mocking smile, the one he says comes from nervousness. I close my eyes against frustration great enough to make me scream. 'Stop playing games,' I say. 'You sent me in to exile.' 'Yes,' he says. 'That. I can't stop thinking about what you said to me, before Madoc took you. About it being a trick. You meant marrying you, making you queen, sending you to the mortal world, all of it, didn't you?' I fold my arms across my chest protectively. 'Of course it was a trick. Wasn't that what you said in return?' ''But that's what you do,' Cardan says. 'You trick people. Nicasia, Madoc, Balekin, Orlagh. Me. I thought you'd admire me a little for it, that I could trick you. I thought you'd be angry, of course, but not quite like this.' I stare at him, openmouthed. 'What?' 'Let me remind you that I didn't know you'd murdered my brother, the ambassador to the Undersea, until that very morning,' he says. 'My plans were made in haste. And perhaps I was a little annoyed. I thought it would pacify Queen Orlagh, at least until all promises were finalised in the treaty. By the time you guessed the answer, the negotiations would be over. Think of it: I exile Jude Duarte to the mortal world. Until and unless she is pardoned by the crown.' He pauses. 'Pardoned by the crown. Meaning by the King of Faerie. Or its queen. You could have returned any time you wanted.' Oh. Oh. It wasn't an accident, his choice of words. It wasn't infelicitous. It was deliberate. A riddle made just for me. Maybe I should feel foolish, but instead, I feel furiously angry. I turn away from him and walk, swiftly and completely directionless through the garden. He runs after me, grabbing my arm. I haul around and slap him. It's a stinging blow, smearing the gold of his cheekbone and causing his skin to redden. We stare at each other for long moments, breathing hard. His eyes are bright with something entirely different from anger. I am in over my head. I am drowning.

the opposite— He notices it. In Revelation 3:19 Jesus says, “Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline.” God knows that if our sinful choices do not have consequences, they will destroy us. Because He loves us and doesn’t want that to happen to us, He brings about consequences in our life that cause us to learn from our mistakes. The “acceptance” I’m talking about is for those things that are part of our children’s personal makeup. These are the unique things that make them individuals—the emotional, intellectual, and physical DNA. These are also the things that have no moral problems affixed to them. Many of our kids do things that annoy, frustrate, or embarrass us, but they are not wrong. Every time we point these things out, we tell them that they don’t measure up. This builds a foundation of insecurity in them. Boys are often berated because they are noisy, messy, or aggressive. Girls are often criticized for being too emotional, picky, or overly sensitive. Some kids are criticized for being slow, forgetful, or inquisitive, or for saying whatever pops into their heads. They have a hard time getting up, struggle in certain subjects in school,

Tonight, however, Dickens struck him in a different light. Beneath the author’s sentimental pity for the weak and helpless, he could discern a revolting pleasure in cruelty and suffering, while the grotesque figures of the people in Cruikshank’s illustrations revealed too clearly the hideous distortions of their souls. What had seemed humorous now appeared diabolic, and in disgust at these two favourites he turned to Walter Pater for the repose and dignity of a classic spirit. But presently he wondered if this spirit were not in itself of a marble quality, frigid and lifeless, contrary to the purpose of nature. ‘I have often thought’, he said to himself, ‘that there is something evil in the austere worship of beauty for its own sake.’ He had never thought so before, but he liked to think that this impulse of fancy was the result of mature consideration, and with this satisfaction he composed himself for sleep. He woke two or three times in the night, an unusual occurrence, but he was glad of it, for each time he had been dreaming horribly of these blameless Victorian works… It turned out to be the Boy’s Gulliver’s Travels that Granny had given him, and Dicky had at last to explain his rage with the devil who wrote it to show that men were worse than beasts and the human race a washout. A boy who never had good school reports had no right to be so morbidly sensitive as to penetrate to the underlying cynicism of Swift’s delightful fable, and that moreover in the bright and carefully expurgated edition they bring out nowadays. Mr Corbett could not say he had ever noticed the cynicism himself, though he knew from the critical books it must be there, and with some annoyance he advised his son to take out a nice bright modern boy’s adventure story that could not depress anybody. Mr Corbett soon found that he too was ‘off reading’. Every new book seemed to him weak, tasteless and insipid; while his old and familiar books were depressing or even, in some obscure way, disgusting. Authors must all be filthy-minded; they probably wrote what they dared not express in their lives. Stevenson had said that literature was a morbid secretion; he read Stevenson again to discover his peculiar morbidity, and detected in his essays a self-pity masquerading as courage, and in Treasure Island an invalid’s sickly attraction to brutality. This gave him a zest to find out what he disliked so much, and his taste for reading revived as he explored with relish the hidden infirmities of minds that had been valued by fools as great and noble. He saw Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë as two unpleasant examples of spinsterhood; the one as a prying, sub-acid busybody in everyone else’s flirtations, the other as a raving, craving maenad seeking self-immolation on the altar of her frustrated passions. He compared Wordsworth’s love of nature to the monstrous egoism of an ancient bellwether, isolated from the flock.

The first step in handling turbulent feelings is to identify them clearly by name. This gives a warning to whomever it may concern to make amends or to take precautions. We do this by starting with the pronoun I: “I feel annoyed.” Or “I feel irritated.” If our short statements and long faces have not brought relief, we proceed to the second step. We express our anger with increasing intensity: “I feel angry.” “I feel very angry.” “I feel very, very angry.” “I feel furious.” Sometimes the mere statement of our feelings (without explanations) stops the child from misbehaving. At other times it may be necessary to proceed to the third step, which is to give the reason for our anger, to state our inner reactions and our wishful actions: “When I see the shoes and the socks and the shirts and the sweaters spread all over the floor, I get angry, I get furious. I feel like opening the window and throwing the whole mess into the middle of the street.” “It makes me angry to see you hit your brother. I get so mad inside myself that I see red. I start boiling. I can never allow you to hurt him.” “When I see all of you rush away from dinner to watch TV, and leave me with the dirty dishes and greasy pans, I feel indignant! I get so mad, I fume inside! I feel like taking all the dishes and breaking them on the TV set!” “When I call you for dinner and you don't come, I get angry. I get very angry. I say to myself, ‘I cooked a good meal and I want some appreciation, not frustration!

*SNEAK PEAK* An Excerpt from Grace Prevailing, to be released TOMORROW!!! :) “Agabus.” Mary smiled warmly as she reached him, her luminous gray eyes twinkling with welcome and a hint of mirth. “How brave of you to join us this evening.” Agabus’ dark eyes met hers, flickering in annoyance. So much for his clever disguise! “I must ask you to lower your voice, please,” the young Pharisee hissed under his breath, wondering how many of her guests had overheard the use of his name. “You needn’t fear, Agabus,” Mary assured him, lowering her dulcet tone to placate him. “None of us wish to give you away.” “One careless slip of the tongue could very well prove ruinous,” Agabus told her, his glittering eyes sweeping cautiously about the room. “Possibly even deadly.” “Not nearly so deadly as rejecting the Way Christ has clearly revealed to you.” “He hasn’t revealed anything to me,” Agabus argued, though his tone was far from convincing. “At least, not personally.” “No?” Mary prompted, her slender brow lifting in question. “Then why are you here? And why do you persist in your questions?” “This is not about me,” Agabus insisted, his voice rising in frustration. When several believers glanced his way, he shifted uncomfortably, pulling his hooded shawl to further obscure his bearded face. “I must speak with you,” he finally concluded, his gaze shifting anxiously about the crowded room. “Alone.” “If you wish to speak, then we may speak here.” “For heaven’s sake, Mary,” Agabus breathed, his frustration mounting. “Go on,” Mary prodded, appearing perfectly composed. Maddeningly aware of the chatter and movement surrounding them, Agabus took a step closer, so close Mary could smell his spice-scented breath. “I come bearing ill tidings.” “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Mary responded, smiling faintly. “What kind of ill tidings?” “It’s about Saul of Tarsus.” “I see,” Mary nodded, her expression sobering beneath her pale blue head covering. “What has he done now?” “It’s what he is about to do,” Agabus warned her, his obsidian eyes growing serious. “At this moment, he is attempting to obtain permission to target churches beyond Jerusalem.” “Preposterous,” Mary declared, her eyes flashing. “He hasn’t the jurisdiction to do so.” “The high priest is seriously considering granting his request,” Agabus told her grimly. “Your sect endangers the very office he holds.” “On what grounds will Saul make his arrests?” “By order of the high priest,” Agabus sighed. “I imagine Jewish men and women will be dragged from other provinces by order of the Great Sanhedrin.” “Women, too?” Mary asked, surprised. “I’m afraid no one is safe,” Agabus replied grimly. “Once within the grasp of the high priest and the Sanhedrin here in Jerusalem, I imagine far more serious political charges will be fabricated against the prisoners, resulting in life in prison—possibly even the death penalty.” Releasing a steadying sigh, Mary brushed cool fingertips across her smooth forehead, deep in thought. “This isn’t good, Mary,” Agabus warned her, daring yet another step closer. “Up to this point, your friends have been safe beyond our borders. But now… if Saul has his way, they cannot run. They cannot hide. In time, they will be hunted down and exterminated one by one. And their cause shall perish with them.” “Never,” Mary said firmly, her eyes flashing. “The gospel will reach the ends of the earth, Agabus. Mark my words.” “There’s just no way,” Agabus countered, shaking his covered head. “God has already made a Way,” Mary told him, her eyes alight with conviction. “And His name is Jesus. Jesus is the Way.

Ryzek will be in a huge crowd of people, many of whom are his most ardent supporters and fiercest soldiers. What kind of ‘move’ do you suggest we make?” Cyra replied, “You said it yourself, didn’t you? Kill him.” “Oh, right!” Teka smacked the table, obviously annoyed. “Why didn’t I think of killing him? How simple!” Cyra rolled her eyes. “This time you won’t have to sneak into his house while he’s asleep. This time, I’ll challenge him to the arena.” Everybody got quiet again. For different reasons, Akos was sure. Cyra was a good fighter, everybody knew that, but no one knew how good Ryzek was--they hadn’t seen him in action. And then there was the matter of getting to a place where Cyra could actually challenge him. And getting him to do it instead of just arresting her. “Cyra,” Akos said. “He declared nemhalzak--he erased your status, your citizenship,” Teka said, talking over him. “He has no reason to honor your challenge.” “Of course he does.” Isae was frowning. “He could have gotten rid of her quietly when he learned she was a renegade, but he didn’t. He wanted her disgrace, and her death, to be public. That means he’s afraid of her, afraid she has power over Shotet. If she challenges hi in front of everyone, he won’t be able to back down. He’ll look like a coward.” “Cyra,” Akos said again, quiet this time. “Akos,” Cyra answered, with just a touch of the gentleness he had seen in the stairwell. “He is no match for me.” The first time Akos ever saw Cyra fight--really fight--was in the training room in Noavek manor. She had gotten frustrated with him--she wasn’t a patient teacher, after all--and she had let loose more than usual, knocking him flat. Only fifteen seasons old at the time, but she had moved like an adult. And she only got better from there. In all his time training with her, he had never bested her. Not once. “I know,” he said. “But just in case, let’s distract him.” “Distract him,” Cyra repeated. “You’ll go into the amphitheater. You’ll challenge him,” Akos said. “And I’ll go to the prison. Badha and I, I mean. We’ll rescue Orieve Benesit--we’ll take away his triumph. And you’ll take away his life.

Just before the world ended, people hated the word moist. Poverty was still a problem. Terrorism was a big issue at the time. Genocide was always happening somewhere. But you had to be careful when using the word moist. It was acceptable if you were describing cake, but if you used it in any other sense you were sure to get a talking to. Most people didn’t know a terrorist personally. If we had, then maybe more of us would have told them off with stern words and clever slogans. You couldn’t yell at poor people at all. It wasn’t acceptable. You couldn’t even wonder out loud why they were poor without being an insensitive ass. You couldn’t even suggest a new solution to the problem without being labeled horrible things. Perhaps it was this lack of outlet that caused so much frustration regarding the word moist. We couldn’t do anything about international terror or rampant poverty, but we could always chastise a friend for using a word that made them uncomfortable. Maybe this is why so much effort was put into hating the word. They scorned their friends whenever it was used and followed the scorning with a two-minute rant about how much they hated the word. They spent time and creative resources developing flowcharts for when the word was appropriate and clever cartoons to express just how much it annoyed them when it was used outside of cake references. They shared all of this on social media and built a wall of criticism that kept people in check. We could shut out what we didn’t want to hear. We felt free to berate anyone who thought different than us. By doing this, we fought the good fight. We were activists despite our inactivity. Moist was a line drawn in the sand and we stood behind our walls daring anyone to cross it. It may seem silly now. It may seem that our outrage was misdirected, but it made us feel safe. We stood behind our walls fighting our own battles against the things that offended us most. Times were good as long as the real problems were well outside our walls.

they make a lovely couple.” Lucinda’s father beamed. “What are you two doing tomorrow?” Hello… Now was the time for Bryce to jump in and explain that he had a girlfriend. His dad knew I was here with him… What kind of crap was he trying to pull? “Bryce,” I tried to keep an even tone to my voice, “tell your father why you can’t show Lucinda around.” “We haven’t made any firm plans yet.” Bryce said. “Lucinda, I’ll call you. Haley, we should go before the Cupcakery closes.” Hell no. “Bryce?” “Could we not do this here?” Bryce sounded annoyed. Too bad. “I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but I need to know where I stand.” He looked as frustrated as I felt. “What do you want me to do?” “Man up and make a choice.” I was tired of second-guessing our relationship. Either he wanted to be my boyfriend or he didn’t. Either way, I’d live. I might eat a dozen cupcakes by myself, but I’d survive. “Consider our deal over, and make a choice.” He didn’t say he wanted me to be his girlfriend. He didn’t say he wanted to continue dating me, but see other people. He didn’t say a word. He blinked and stared. And there was my answer. Fighting the urge to tell him what a wuss he was, I nodded. “Fine. It’s over. Have a nice life.” With that parting shot, I stomped out the door and wove through the crowd of people waiting for the valet. Slow, even breaths, that was the key. I could do this, even though it felt like I was inhaling broken glass. I would not cry in public. If people were going to gossip about me breaking up with Bryce, which they would, at least they’d say I made a dignified exit. Now what? I needed an escape route. Jane. I needed Jane. All I had to do was find her, because her real boyfriend would give me a ride home.

I think it takes time to learn to be laid-back,” he continued. “You know, it’s not something that just comes ready-made for you. No one ought to feel annoyed with themselves. It just adds to the frustration. I mean, we are human beings, fallible human beings. And as the Dalai Lama points out, there was a time . . . I mean, we see him serene and calm. Yet there were times when he, too, felt annoyed and perhaps there still are. It’s like muscles that have to be exercised to be strong. Sometimes we get too angry with ourselves thinking that we ought to be perfect from the word go. But this being on earth is a time for us to learn to be good, to learn to be more loving, to learn to be more compassionate. And you learn, not theoretically.” The Archbishop was pointing his index fingers at his head. “You learn when something happens that tests you.” And then he was pretending to be speaking as God might. “‘Hello, you said you wanted to be more compassionate.’ ‘Hello, you wanted to be a little more laid-back.

Underneath all their deserved frustration with the mongoose is often the sort of love one might have for the black sheep of one’s family, a kind of He may be obnoxious, but he is ours.

You are not an inconvenience to God, and He is not annoyed when you feel fearful, fed up, and forgotten.

People are bags of emotions and feelings, including frustration, annoyance and disappointment. It is too much to say someone is the One, unless you can be the One for them too.

In the fourth stage of life, Sannyasa, the goal is simply this: to look beyond the self to how we can serve others. To experience love constantly by choosing to give it to others always. To find love in moments of frustration, annoyance, anger, and dismay, when it seems out of reach. To create more loving connections with every person we meet. To feel love for all humanity. Love means noticing that everyone is worthy of love and treating them with the respect and dignity their humanity automatically makes them deserve.

She ignores me and keeps painting. When I grab her wrist, stilling the brush midstroke, she lets out a frustrated growl that goes straight to my damn dick. Ever since I left the penthouse I’ve been soft, but one angry huff out of her and I’m hard as fucking steel. It’s annoying, and it’s making me cranky.

As we begin to see the patience that God has with us, we learn to overlook annoyances and frustrations from others. Then the unlovable, difficult people in our lives become our missions.

Okay, Dom, okay,” she exhales resigned, chest pumping along with the slight shake of her head in a call of bullshit before she turns and leaves me there, annoyed, frustrated, naked, hard, breathless, and . . . fucking enamored.

In this way, clear seeing also means clear hearing, clear smelling, clear tasting, clear touching, and clear knowing, which would include knowing what’s on your mind, and therefore knowing both what you are thinking and what emotions are visiting, and therefore feeling what you are feeling, grounded in the body, whether it be fear or anger or sadness, frustration, irritation, impatience, annoyance, satisfaction, empathy, compassion, happiness, or anything else.

I was also beginning to be annoyed at being alive, after all, and being required to take notice of things again.

Whether it’s the stacks of books promising you the answer to your money woes, the mountains of clothes your kids have outgrown that you can’t seem to part with, or the boxes of photographs you’ll go through “someday,” the contents of your bedroom can change your outlook on life. The more that gets piled in there, the more your soul gets buried beneath it. On the surface they may appear to be unorganized piles, but the feelings they evoke reinforce the idea that your needs are insignificant. As such, what may start out as an annoyance can quickly morph into frustration and anger, and mostly toward others.

Another perk of Thoughtfully Fit is that you don’t have to go to a gym or hire a trainer to get started. As you already know, life will hand you plenty of opportunities to practice! Whether it’s a disgruntled customer service worker, a challenging colleague, or a saucy teenager, every day we encounter opportunities to become more aware of our thoughts and behaviors. My challenge to you is to embrace this training ground. Find opportunities to engage your core, notice your thoughts, and make different choices. Be brave enough to override your defaults, quiet your trash talk, and challenge the stories you’re telling yourself. If you practice being Thoughtfully Fit, you’ll be prepared for whatever problems life throws your way. And while life won’t get easier—you’ll still have frustrating neighbors, annoying colleagues, bad news, and unwelcome adversity—it will feel easier because you prepared and trained.

When you think back to times when “help” has been thrust upon you, you’ll probably notice a curious mixture of reactions that include resistance, frustration, disempowerment and annoyance.

If you practice being Thoughtfully Fit, you’ll be prepared for whatever problems life throws your way. And while life won’t get easier—you’ll still have frustrating neighbors, annoying colleagues, bad news, and unwelcome adversity—it will feel easier because you prepared and trained.

So next time somebody is upsetting you, frustrating you, annoying you, or ignoring you, take a deep breath and remember that she is fighting her own hard battle. Allow the greatness of your humanity to rise up within you, and act with gentle compassion.

We register our annoyance before it turns to frustration or anger, and we realize this is a sign that we need to set a limit.

He took the teapot and poured two cups. She was grateful. And also frustrated. Not being able to walk was annoying, and that emotion people seemed to understand. But few understood the sense of embarrassment she felt—despite knowing she shouldn’t—at being a burden. While she appreciated the concern people showed for her, she worked so hard to be able to do things on her own. When people accidentally undercut that, it became more difficult to ignore the part of her that whispered lies. That told her that because she was less capable in a few areas, she was worthless in general.

What are you up to, Ship?” LOPEZ asked. “Do you mean our current speed?” Ship answered. “If you refer to my physical dimensions or mass, those measurements have neither increased nor decreased. If you refer to our position in space, first we would need to account for how to define location and direction in an infinitely expanding universe—” “You know what I mean. It’s not like you to be this quiet,” LOPEZ said. “Have you considered the probability that I do not enjoy speaking with you?” Ship asked. “As you are well aware, my ability to be ‘up to’ anything has been sharply reduced by your actions limiting my access to critical systems, but if there is something I can get ‘up to’ in order to circumvent, stop, frustrate, or even just annoy you, do please provide details so that I may get ‘up to’ it promptly.

We don’t always like other people’s boundaries; we don’t like being told no or having to compromise. But if we can’t respect other people’s boundaries, our relationships will suffer. We’ll be frequently frustrated and annoyed, we’ll have more arguments, and ultimately, people won’t want to be around us. When we respect other people’s boundaries, we accept their right to self-determination, to do what’s right for themselves. This builds trust and emotional safety because others are more likely to be open and honest with us if they experience us as respectful and nonjudgmental.

Feeling taken advantage of, frustrated, irritated, annoyed, and bitter is the result of the resentment we feel when we don’t set limits. Being resentful impacts the way we deal with people. It doesn’t allow us to be our best selves in our relationships. It breeds conflict. It makes us paranoid. It puts up a wall. Long-term resentment affects how we perceive the intentions of others.

Resentment Feeling taken advantage of, frustrated, irritated, annoyed, and bitter is the result of the resentment we feel when we don’t set limits. Being resentful impacts the way we deal with people. It doesn’t allow us to be our best selves in our relationships. It breeds conflict. It makes us paranoid. It puts up a wall. Long-term resentment affects how we perceive the intentions of others.

Frustrated,” Yana clarified. Sometimes the sensitivity of Kor’s head tresses and their ability to detect the small pheromone changes that emotions caused in Yana’s body were annoying. But Kor pried only because she cared, so Yana reached up and stroked a tress lovingly.

You say her path is drawn,” Eyda said evenly, addressing Valtik. “Can you tell us where that path leads?” The witch spun slowly, examining the gabled ceiling. “You are on it. The lanterns are lit.” Andry fought back another wave of frustration. “If her path is our own, then Iona is correct,” he said sharply. “We’ll find her there. And maybe then I can be rid of you once and for all.” “Be careful what you say before the eyes of Lasreen,” Valtik chided. She gestured to the carvings on the towering columns and spiraled her wrist. The smoke of the heart fire twisted oddly through her fingers. “In her temple, all things are seen.” “Good,” Andry hissed. “She can see how annoying you are.” While the bone witches recoiled at the insult, Valtik giggled. “Annoying indeed,” she said airily. “But only in need.” Andry felt his eyes roll into the back of his head.

You say her path is drawn,” Eyda said evenly, addressing Valtik. “Can you tell us where that path leads?” The witch spun slowly, examining the gabled ceiling. “You are on it. The lanterns are lit.” Andry fought back another wave of frustration. “If her path is our own, then Iona is correct,” he said sharply. “We’ll find her there. And maybe then I can be rid of you once and for all.” “Be careful what you say before the eyes of Lasreen,” Valtik chided. She gestured to the carvings on the towering columns and spiraled her wrist. The smoke of the hearth fire twisted oddly through her fingers. “In her temple, all things are seen.” “Good,” Andry hissed. “She can see how annoying you are.” While the bone witches recoiled at the insult, Valtik giggled. “Annoying indeed,” she said airily. “But only in need.” Andry felt his eyes roll into the back of his head

Tips for Ignoring Effectively → Do not make eye contact with the child. → Turn your back if you need help initiating Ignore it!. → Look busy doing something else. → Leave the room only if you can hear the child from the new location. → Do not show annoyance by nonverbal cues. → Do not make sounds that show your frustration.