Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Find me a cave

Eureka I've figured it out. I'm always the last to know.

All day I've been on edge. Irritated at the TV. It's too loud. Irritated at a book I was reading - didn't advertise on the cover it was a collection of short stories - and I was tricked into thinking subsequent stories were chapters of the original story. Irritated at husband for drinking my vodka. Irritated at customers for asking questions. Irritated at co-worker for asking questions I've already answered.

I'm in bed trying to sleep, rolling in my bitterness when it occurs to me... I've been in this edgy bitch-funk for most of the last several days. What gives?

I've been rough to nearly everyone I have encountered. It's annoying when I realize I've been moody for days. I've had a headache for days and have just been uninterested in people. I spent two days repotting plants. Really.
Monday night I went to play volleyball and there was one particular guy there, I ended up on his team at one point and he was giving me a hard time about not playing my position properly, harking on me - despite the fact I'm one of the best women players there. I'd played with him before and it didn't bother me. But for some reason Monday he got under my skin. I complained to another player he was being a dick... and I stewed on it. I'm still stewing on it. This is not me.

Normally get annoyed, brush it off and forget about it. Over. Done. Everything is no big deal.
I don't like being angry. Especially this hair-trigger lingering kind, where anything sets me off. When it occurs to me that I've been simmering for days. Usually it's just the passing of time, moods come and go, but this is worse than normal.
Well, it fucking sucks.
I suspect it has to do with a new common daily regimen that keeps babies away. I've had trouble with this before. Currently, my desire to remain childless outweighs my distaste of being hormonally altered. Not that our families haven't nagged us enough. Husband's family was surprised to learn we plan to name our firstborn child "lamp." Keep asking. The names will get worse. Every time my mom asks "when" I tack another month onto when she'll get the news - should that day come. At this rate, the kid will be seven by the time I tell her.

I should have been clued into this mood hurricane when I was feeling dark and suddenly got the desire to paint my nails black the other day, and hadn't been in a dark-nail polish kind of mood in a while. I usually like going au-naturale in the summer time, with tips of fingers and toes a lighter shade than my sun-kissed skin.
Oh well.
Tomorrow I'll be all sunshine and rainbows my kiddies, I promise.

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