The neighbor's air conditioner running at full blast every goddamn night during a blistering heat wave of 68 goddamn degrees while an ocean bleeds oil unmolested.
My seeming inability to ever fully grasp how many minutes are actually in an hour and how many hours in a day and to even consider giving up a reasonable number of them to maintaining the physical plant.
A million petty grievances ready to be converted to the gold of Practice once I get my head screwed on halfway straight.
It's the first half that's always the hardest.
If you can make it to the second half, though it is a thing which requires herculean efforts at stopping and breathing not to mention slowing down, you sometimes find yourself with, if not a lesson to hold near and dear to your heart, at least something like a halfway decent stab at a poem.