I'm experiencing severe pre-vacation blues. I just do not want to work for a living. I want to have a whole bunch of time to myself so I can think and snooze and shut down my brain. It's not really that long until I go on my cruise, only two more weeks, but I am ready now.
How can I tell? Everything and everyone puts me into the vilest mood (except for John. John has never put me in a vile mood). People get on my last nerve and I want to scream at them. If I'm thwarted in any way I get all worked up about it. I was outraged at the unfairness of the Biology professor's decision about my team's grade. I'm over that now, aside from making vicious remarks about people who hate what they do and take it out on their students. I don't even want to talk about how I accidentally blew getting a free first class ticket to Antigua. Bitter, party of one, your table's ready. And tonight when I went to the frame shop to pick up my newly framed 18th century watercolor and discovered they had casually thrown away the label that identified it and gave the provenance I went ballistic. It's far too late to recover the label, and the antiques dealer who sold it to me is on a months-long tour of US flower shows and is effectively out of reach until almost Christmas so it'll be ages until I can find out if they have the information duplicated at their shop.
When I'm justifiably angry I get very, very honest. At length. In no uncertain terms. And I'm in no hurry to leave, either. They were not very happy about making that mistake. But I was much unhappier. Because I'm wearing the crankypants, and nothing makes me crankier than to have something ruin my plans due to carelessness and lack of foresight. Including my own.
Vacation cannot come too soon.
The Index
Next Incarnation