Passion for Control

I often mull over the issue of control.  In "Get Smart" the enemy spy agency was Control.  In the original London production of "Star light Express" the voice of Control commanded the players until the end of the musical, when they all shout "Shut it Control!" From these media examples, amongst  many others, I can suppose that the issue plagues many.

There are little ways of stealing time and attention from people; I notice them.  Am I paranoid or oversensitive?  Probably. Talking on a cordless or cell phone, in a room where others are trying to converse or watch TV is a classic: just walk out of the room!  Another beaut is beginning a story and mid-sentence taking a huge bite of food, so that all who are listening must wait to hear the next words, while you chew and swallow.  Not bothering to say where you are or when you will return with important equipment or data; same effect, life pauses while we wait. These are not mindless acts, but subtle demands; demonstrations of who is in charge.  Does a polite person on the receiving end, deal with them and lose time? When do manners cease to be the cause of acceptance and when does cowardice take over?  Is one politely passive or revolutionary?  That seems to depend on the fight likely to ensue and the consequences of such action.  In my new life I am trying to not care. This does not suit my nature.

I do care, but mostly I silently fume.  Am I polite or cowardly?  As a harsh judge of my character, I am a coward.  I hate fighting though I feel passionately about most subjects.  I often strike a jab to prod action in another person and then back down with the assumption that I will cause more harm than good. I also back down when someone attacks. This is from experience, as on the few occasions when I won arguments as a very young person, terrible things resulted;  revenge served oh so coldly.  So I have learned to go against my nature and ability, and to let things alone. This is often irresponsible, but I can argue that away as pride. The main loss of my polite withdrawal,  is that of my own passion.  I have learned to suppress my vigor to avoid wasting energy on projects where I cannot effect change.  Sadly this affected malaise has seeped into my soul. I must recover from this self-inflicted, cowardly moderation, as without passion, there is no life.  I am, alas, too Greek for that kind of controlled life.