I am crabby. Here is a list of the things that have made me unreasonably angry in the past 10 hours:
1. My husband shaved, and he didn't clean out the sink. He never cleans out the sink after he shaves. Normally, I just wipe out the sink and go on with my day. Today, I ranted for 20 minutes (at the dogs, he sneaked out before I could rant at him) about how angry that made me.
2. People cutting me off. To be fair, this happens all the time, too. But today I deployed the time honored gesture of disapproval, which I normally don't do because I like to live and people frighten me. And really, I'm just a delicate little flower who doesn't like confrontation. Today, I felt the finger was better than my other reflex, which was to ram the next person who cut me off.
3. My pants. Why is it so freaking hard to make a pair of women's pants? Why must all my pants be too tight in the ass and thighs and yet have room in the waist band for both my fists, a small dog, and another person?
4. My mother's anxiety about my trip at the end of the month. She is always anxious. And yet, her expressed anxiety that we will be hijacked by terrorists when we fly to San Francisco pissed me off.
5. The telephone. I curse Alexander Graham Bell and anyone else who had anything to do with the creation of this accursed invention. Stop. Ringing.
6. My "promotion" to "professional status" which comes with no perks. I am not a secretary, but I get treated like a secretary. "I see that you are working feverishly on those 18 reports piled on your desk, but please stop for a moment to print this or copy that or retrieve that file for me." There are two other women here (who get secretarial perks like overtime, which I do not get) who could do that. But please. Have me do it.
7. E-mailing me things so that I can print them for you. Are you kidding? Is it really easier to write an e-mail, attach a document, and send it to me (then harrass me no end until you get your print job) than it is to just click the little print icon?
8. My hair. I cannot even describe to you how much a pain in the ass it is to have my hair. It is straight there, but it is wavy there, and yes those are a few random corkscrew curls thrown in for the hell of it. The only consistent thing about it is the frizz. Normally, I put it up and never think on it again. Today, I can feel it up there. I can feel each individual strand being a complete asshole. Today I am considering the relative merits of a buzz cut.
9. The phone conversation on the other side of the cubicle divider. The clicking of high heels. Does she have to type that hard? Is it necessary to breathe that loudly? Does the sun have to shine so much?
10. My yogurt. It is not expired. So why is it separated and clumpy? I looked forward to that yogurt all day, and I didn't even get to enjoy it. (Also, my banana was annoying this morning, too. Peeling the damn thing made my skin crawl).
I do not know what the hell is wrong with me today. I hope this isn't the start of the failure of the pills I've been taking for anxiety. That, too, will seriously piss me off. Maybe its just birthday blues, and the fact that this one will probably suck a little bit. It was my idea that my husband not get me a present. And I stand by that. We spent a lot of money in April on cars, and home stuff, and a vacation at the end of the month that's a combination graduation/birthday present. But for whatever reason I've been all mopey about it the past couple of days, because I didn't realize how much I want the EXACT DAY to feel special. And its ridiculous, because its not like we won't celebrate at some point or I'm not getting something awesome. And its not like there's even anything particularly awesome that I want. The trip is what I want. I would pretty much always rather travel than get a material item. I'm not lying when I say I don't want anything else. But now its expanded to this complete fantasy in my head where I'm Molly Ringwald in 16 Candles and everyone forgets its my birthday altogether. You know, if Molly Ringwald was turning 28.
At least I won't have to wear pink tafetta.