Not annoyed. Not prickly. Not frustrated.
Angry.
As in GRRRRRRR!!!!
It did not help that the song stuck in my head was Nine Inch Nails' Hurt. I mean, what kind of emo crap is that?! I don't even like that song. Unless, of course, it's Kermit's version and then, well, that rocks. I have all sorts of respect for Trent Reznor as a musician but please! Dude! Lighten up just a little bit. Your tormented soul is a major bummer. And now it's bumming me out. Just. Stop. It.
Oh wait. I guess I wasn't talking about Trent Reznor, was I?
Yeah, so, anyway. Angry.
Now, if you know me in real life, you know how this is completely unlike me. I freely admit I can be a bit of a Mary Jane Sunshine and typically bounce out of bed. Well...OK "bounce" may be an exaggeration. Stagger clumsily is much more like it but, most often, I'm only staggering because the sleep is still in my eyes and the puddles of drool I'm creating over the thought of my morning coffee provide a slickery and perilous walking surface for those of us who are A) not quite awake yet and B) accident prone just generally.
So to wake up this...this...this MAD for absolutely no reason! Is just not right.
And you know what also doesn't help? Taking a blogthings quiz - because that's what some of us do when we just want to zone out for a minute - whose results tell you you're in Stage 1 of Development and go on to tell you to stop being such an emotional child.
Fuck you, blogthings quiz. You were probably written by a 13-year-old girl. What do you even know about development beyond your own breasts?
And another thing. The sun. Yes, that's right. You heard me. The sun. Here it is, November 4, the birds are singing, it's 65°-ish, and the sun is shining so bright, I've gotta wear shades...in my office. Because the sun is beating right down on my head and glaring against my monitor.
And another thing? Why do people who hate us...people we've gotten FIRED 6 years ago...want to then friend us on Facebook? Why? I still do not like you, Obnoxious Deceitful Lady! I had to listen to you yap and yap about your bankruptcies, your stupid children, and your failed marriages for 3 1/2 years. I give thanks every day for your fraudulent worker's comp claim and inability to keep your yap shut to this day. Why on Earth would I want anything to do with you now? Isn't it bad enough that, through a strange (perhaps karmic) coincidence, you happen to now work in the building my office window faces? Isn't it bad enough I still have to watch you waddle across the parking lot every day? Go away. Leave me alone.
And while we're speaking of leaving me alone...naw. Never mind. I'll regret saying it here later.
I hate this feeling. Feeling like I put on someone else's skin during the night - skin that doesn't fit right, that bunches, gapes, hangs in all the wrong places, and is quite possibly made of 100% cheap wool.
I need a nap...and some wine...and a bath. Then maybe I'll be ready to go joy hunting.
Until then, be very very quiet.
1 comment:
Try Johnny Cash's version of hurt. He at least makes it a story of redemption. And if you need to rant and let someone hear it, you have my number.
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