That Stench Is My Foul Mood

There are days like this.  They don’t happen very often, at least not anymore.  Everyone has them.  A mood so foul the day itself screams – for the love of God, woman shut the hell up!  It was all going so well, too. 

While everyone complained loudly about the impending snow storm last week, I did a remarkable 360 and was actually happy about it, because for once it happened at the best possible time for us.  It started late after we returned home from our routine Wednesday night trip to PA, and we had nowhere to go Thursday or Friday – no appointments, no obligations – and it was my weekend, so the kids were home with me anyway.  Perfect.  I worked Saturday night for a few hours, because the restaurant is short staffed, again.  Really, how’s about I just stop reporting that?  It should be the tagline on the restaurant marquee. 

I look forward to Monday like a prisoner looks forward to parole.  You see, I’m a person who loves – no, NEEDS – her time to herself.  It’s how I stay remotely sane.  Everyone goes back to work and school on Monday – that is, everyone but me.  So – imagine my joy as the bus pulls away with my youngest on board.  But it was short-lived.

When left alone to my own devices, particularly during very specific periods of the month – a snarky demon moves into my domain and breathes complaints into my ears that make me seethe inside, and no amount of chocolate will fix it.  I’m usually laid back about most things, but soon enough, something, somewhere along the way, causes that tight cord inside me to snap.  I have at least learned to avoid people when it’s at its worst and, if they know better, they will steer clear of me until the darkness passes.  I see things that bother me – and they just latch onto my soul like a leech, sucking the patience out of me until all that’s left are eyes dark with fire and a razor sharp tongue.

And so.  Here we are in the silence of my kitchen, which is destined to end soon because there is currently no predictability to my time.  The snow outside is finally melting, but is flooding the yard and the side yard with muddy trenches because there’s simply too much.  I have phone calls to make, but I don’t want to talk.  To anyone.  I need the quietude to hear myself and center.  And then the day is over too quick – and soon one child, the rapper, bursts through the front door and the dogs go apeshit.  Stupid dogs bark at everyone who comes through the door.  Well, everyone but me.  They have learned better.  Ah, the power of the treatkeeper. 

I digress.  An hour later, after hearing more Biggie Smalls trivia from #1 on this anniversary of his death, #2 comes home with a grumpy look to match her momma’s mood.  God, she can be so bitchy!  I don’t know where she gets it from….

Things turned around okay enough.  The evening was pleasant.  And then I ran down the hallway to the kitchen and slid into the corner of the doorframe to a bellowing stop in another of those “freak accidents.”  So now I am injured with a broken toe, or maybe it’s a compression fracture, or maybe it’s “just bruised” like Todd said.  Nevertheless, I am NOT walking well, and my toe is swollen, black and blue, and not enjoying the confinement of a shoe.  So, I have been sitting around with an ice pack and an elevated right foot.  Shouldn’t complain, except that apparently I’m not allowed to stay sitting for long. 

I can’t drive.  But I ventured out anyway, because we’re out of coffee.  And because I had to mail a package to a friend I’d promised over a month ago (sorry J) and the tax docs for the accountant.  My development opens to a road that is frequented by speeding cars and today’s was a red pickup doing about 60 as my car stumbled to a halt.  I drove slowly (did I mention it’s my right foot?) and tried to avoid jerky acceleration or stops.  I was only going into town, where the speed limit is a strictly-enforced 25, so I figured it was a safe trip. 

I pulled through a stop sign and this old guy starts pulling out in front of me, so that I had to slam on the brakes (not easy to do with half of a foot).  What an ass!  Now I’m pissed off as all get out, because moments before, this woman decided she wanted to go first on the circle and cut me off.  At the traffic light for the store, I almost lost round three of the who-has-the-right-of-waygame when another geezer tried to make his left turn ahead of my right one.  By this time I’m sweating, because – my foot.  And, it’s beautifully warm at 53 degrees but not warm enough for a sleeveless top I saw some woman wearing on her way in as I parked the car.  But hey – it’s her life. (See what I mean?  Wth do I care what she’s wearing?)

I hobbled through the grocery store, careful to avoid eye contact – because these moods I get in make me hate people – and hobbled back to the self-checkout so that I could experience the please place the item in the bag 18 times for 3 tins of coffee and a head of cauliflower. I smiled weakly at the attendant since I know it’s not her fault, and limped back out to the car and collapsed.  Exhausted.  One trip to the store – just 10 miles round trip MAX – a short walk inside and back out – and I needed a goddamn nap.  And my pull-through opportunity was lost when a woman parked in the empty space directly in front of me.  Really.  Nine empty parking spaces and she picked That One.

And to top off an otherwise stellar day – I am happy to report that my ex is coming here today, after I adequately convinced him that driving his children for a 3-hour round trip was potentially hazardous to their health, given the present condition of my 3rd metatarsal.  However, having not forgotten the whiplash I got last week from an unexpected telephone blast, and considering my present state of mind – I am reluctant to invite him to stay for dinner.  THAT may be hazardous to his health.




Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s