I’ve been walking around in this cloud of Irritation. If you get in my face, most likely I’ll cut you first and ask questions later but probably never feel bad about it. And you can’t do anything to fix it so stop asking me. Seriously – stop asking me.
If you are the bagger at the supermarket, don’t ask me if I want paper or plastic. You choose for me. Go ahead! Make a decision based on your carbon-based instincts! Do I look like a paper or a plastic-type person? PICK ONE! But if you are wrong, I will cut you.
If I’m at the book store looking for a specific book, doing pretty well on my own, and you come up to ME and ask ME if I need any help but then point me in the direction of someone else after I go to the trouble of explaining what I’m looking for, I will cut you. Why did you ask me in the first place? Why make me explain myself twice? Just leave me alone.
When I’m on my way out the door and I’m a little nervous for my outing and you come up to give me a hug, don’t tell me that you think the towel from my shower must be a little sour. I won’t cut you, since you are my husband, [this part has been removed at the request of my husband.] I’ll show you sour.
When you see me at the store and I look like my head it mostly detached from my body and you witness me actually bumping into the shelves because walking down the large open part of the isles has become too difficult, how about you come over and tell me that the buttons on the front of my shirt are undone too far? How about letting me know that my breasts are having a little show of their own and everyone has a front row ticket? Because if you don’t, and I notice it on the drive home, I’m going to turn that car around and come back and cut you.
Ornery much? I don’t even want to be in the same room with me.
They all deserve it. Every one of them. Probably your husband too.
Amen to THAT I have been there too.
Sounds like you are the one getting cut. Hope you can let someone hold you, ducks.
dear god i feel the exact same way today but with a side of weepy. maybe it is in the stars.
(and the smell of sour towels? that is one of the worst smells ever. i hate it. i hate it enough to re-wash clean clothes and grab a new towel)
Leah, I could tell you that I’ve had that same type of day, but I fear you might cut me, because you’re thinking: “YOU DARE EMPATHIZE WITH ME AND NOT ADMIT TO EXPERIENCING IT RIGHT NOW? Bitch.”
Amen, sistah.
Rank. That’s the word I use to describe myself on days like these. Rank rage.
OMG, I feel like that too!! The Eminem song, “kill you” comes to my mind.
“I said you don’t, wanna fuck with Shady (cause why?)
Cause Shady, will fuckin kill you (ah-haha)”
Once while I was trying to quit smoking (and it was a bad day), both my husband and daughter made the mistake of telling me how pretty I was that day. I could have cut them. I am glad I did not.
For me, it’s looking for a fight to relieve some of the “stuff”, similar to you know, cutting and what it does for the cutter.
This is a very fucking funny post!
Hey there,
Sounds like you had a really tough few days mood wise. I hate those funks when anything and anyone can just add onto the pile and things that normally would be water under the bridge are big day ruining events and you don’t know why they bother you so much and wouldn’t it be so nice if there was a dark, quiet people-less room that you could stay in for a few hours or a week?
I hope things are feeling much better today. Thanks for sharing Leah. I know our situations are very different, but it is so nice to know that I am not the only one who has days where I feel like this.
Found you from the MetroDad interview (good stuff) and had to comment on this post. hahaha Yes! You have summarized my bad days well. In my house, it’s easy to tell when I’m having one of those days. The husband and kids are on the east side of the house, cowering in absolute fear huddled in the corner trying their best not to BREATHE too loudly. Me? I’m on a tasmanian devil rampage SO frucking angry at them because their attempts not to breathe loudly are just TOTALLY pissing me off.
If I ever do kill my husband, you can be assured it’s simply because of how loud he DRINKS. Really, should I be expected to put up with that sh*t?
okay seriously guys, WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON.
i just this morning made a HUGE list of “cons” that comprised the last two weeks or so, and now having you and these others saying “yeah me too” makes me feel like less of a psycho but also makes me wonder what’s in the stars or the water. i am a VERY shy/sensitive person but something hit me this weekend and without my brain even reacting my mouth opened and i screamed at people. the bus driver tried to tell me i only gave her 81 cents instead of 90 and that i didn’t put my change in “right” and i told her to get over it and give me my transfer, and oh yeah, learn to count. some guy nearly ran me over in a crosswalk and i screamed at him and called him an asshole loud enough for him to hear me through his rolled up windows and put a stunned look on his face.
i don’t know leah, but it sucks and you’re not alone.
i once had a professor who said, “i’m so ornery, i could eat a baby!” describes the mood pretty well, wouldn’t you say?