It's been one of "those" days. You know the ones. Those that are caused by little pockets of cosmic evil that randomly float through the universe, looking for someone to screw.
And let me just say, they did a dandy of a job today.
First, it's been raining for three days straight. And while I understand that rain can be good and necessary and essential for all growing things blah blah blah, it's a pain in the rear to have to be out running errands in, and that is precisely what I have to do today. Plus, it's not even a good storm-inducing rain. There's no thunder and lightening to get excited about. It's just a gray rain, succeeding in only getting me wet and making everything overly gloomy.
Second, (although this should probably be first under the causes of "those" days) is that I am PMSing like Attila the Hun, were he actually a woman and assuming that that wasn't his normal sunny disposition. My emotions seem to be bouncing back and forth between anger, depression and intense self-loathing, all with a hair-trigger switch. Add to it that the fact that I'm cramping enough to stagger a charging rhino and make it curl up, whimpering, into the fetal position, and you'll be somewhere in the ballpark. Does it help to know that all this is caused by simple yet malicious hormones, and that all my feelings are exaggerated and not to be trusted?
No. No, it does not.
Third, (and this one really burns me up) is that I seem to have instantly been transformed overnight into a complete and utter moron. I have lost all sense in my scowling little head. Case in point: Tony asked me to do some laundry. (Normally he wouldn't even have to ask since I consider laundry to be one of the few duties of a Stay-at-home-whatever-I-am, but since my surprise transformation to moron, light housekeeping has suddenly become beyond my grasp). Anyway, he asked me to the laundry, since he was out of clean jeans to wear to work. So I gathered up all the dirty clothes, and I took them downstairs to the washer, and I tossed them in (taking care to stuff in as many pairs of his jeans as possible). And I started the washer and returned to my perpetually bad mood. And forgot all about the laundry. Tony got up to go to work this morning and had no jeans. It appears that not only did I not transfer any of Tony's jeans to the dryer so that they'd be nice and dry for him to wear, but I simultaneously failed to even close the lid on the washer, so the wash cycle never started. Basically, I took all of Tony's clothes and just managed to make them sit in a tub of water for 12 hours. There you go, honey! Enjoy! (Luckily, Tony was able to unearth a secret emergency pair of ratty old jeans of that were of a Dirty Dancing, Patrick Swayze-esqe tightness to wear to work. Had I known that they existed, he wouldn't have even had those). I'm thorough in my moron-ness.
Fourth, (and I'm just whining at this point) is that I'm only running on about three and a half hours of sleep. Oh, I went to bed at my normal time (3am), but for some bizarre and sadistic cosmic reason, I woke up again at 6:30 and couldn't get back to sleep. I think the rhino-cramp was what officially woke me at first, but by the time I got up and managed to find the box of Midol and get a glass of water and then struggle with the stupid foil backing on the blister pack and eventually give up and let Tony open it (see above mention of incapacitating stupidity again since I can't even seem to tear the foil open to get a pill out of its packaging), I'd had my eyes open long enough to officially dismiss going back to sleep. Am I tired? Oh yes. Will I be able to get a wink of sleep before 3am again? Not a chance.
So here I am, b*tching and complaining and officially alienating readers who don't want to read about me just b*tching and complaining. Yeah well, tough cookies my friends. It's my crappy day and I'm sharing it. But I will try to limit it to just today if possible. Rarely, the cosmic evil flotsam that triggers crappy days will be evil enough to hit twice in a row, but I'm really hoping that that's not the case here because chances are good that some innocent bystander will not survive a second day of my foul mood. Until then, Mama said there'd be days like this, and aren't you so glad that I'm not Attila the Hun?