I'm Just Saying

I spent the day wanting to smack someone.
Actually, that's not true.
I spent the day wanting to smack just about everyone.

I'm weary.
And wary.
It's scary.

I had to call my mother the other night, and I didn't want to because I had an idea that the conversation wasn't going to go well. Sure enough, I was right. Since then I've been considering that it's a wonder I have any capacity whatsoever to feel joy; I'm so full of "Misery Genes" from both sides of my family. Lawd knows I love the woman, but she is definitely a "glass half empty" sort of person. In fact, her glass isn't just half empty, it's full of vinegar. I find it hard to talk to her sometimes because the negativity seeps through the phone and clenches at my throat. I'd like her to believe it when I tell her, "Everything's going to be okay." I believe it, even if things just manage to get shittier. It's supposedly at times like these - the crappy weeks days moments (whatever) where we have the most potential for growth. For character building.
Or wallowing and flailing.

I find it really difficult when I'm spend the day wanting to kick everyone in the shins. I'm good at hiding it, though, and had you been with me you wouldn't have realized I was seething inside. My brain was busy trying to pinpoint what was bothering me, and it just pissed me off even more to realize that everything is bugging me.

You want to know something that's bugging me? I sent out Christmas presents to a few friends and family. (Mostly to the kids of my friends and family. Christmas is for kids. Blah, blah, blah.) I spent hours shopping and wrapping gifts and then went to the post office and blew over two hundred bucks shipping them. Do you know how many people have contacted me to say thanks?
None.
What is UP with that?
Next year I'm going to send out parcels of grass clippings and fur I brush out of my cat and tell everyone to SUCK IT.
And I musn't have been very good last year, because I got nothing for Christmas. Which is alright - I don't need anything. But, still. We're over half way through January already, so I'm over it. I suppose. I'm just saying, is all.

So there's that.

My manager's absence is probably going to ruin my chance for a week's vacation at the Lunar New Year. This bugs me. I haven't been anywhere for a year, which is pathetic.

I've got to clean my house. Some suggest that your home environment is indicative of your mental and emotional state. If that's the case, I'm feeling dusty and cluttered. I've got piles of stuff everywhere, and most of the stuff should get tossed in the bin.
My god, I want bookshelves.
I want to know someone with a power drill who will install bookshelves.

I feel like I have to pee, but I can't pee. Someone suggested it sounds like a kidney stone. I suggested he may have just created a kidney stone in me by saying so. I told him if it's a kidney stone I'm going to punch him in the head. I'm going to pass the kidney stone and then get on a plane go to Canada and open him up with an exacto knife and put my kidney stone in HIS kidney. Let's see how he likes those apples.

I was thinking today about Carrie Bradshaw on Sex in the City complaining to her friends that her loneliness "was palpable." I want to crawl into that sitcom and punch her in the head. What, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte aren't enough? Lady, you don't know lonely. And I feel guilty. What are there, over 6.6 billion people on Earth? How can it be that I feel so isolated?

I'm going to call it a night round here. Thursday kicked my ass. I've got to be well rested to punch Friday in the head.
Nooo. I would never do that. I love Friday. Friday and I are going to make out starting around 8pm.

There's stormy weather around here. It's best to (duck, and) take cover.