People Who Need People Are The Most Aggravating People In The World
Well, not really.
My mom went to visit my brother and sister-in-law and niece this weekend. I was conveniently busy with grad school obligations. Faithful readers may remember my annoyance with my sister-in-law earlier this year when she made my mother cry. I had low expectations that this trip would be different, but still hoped it would.
Apparently my sister-in-law has, indeed, toned down her nastiness, and we're assuming it is due to two things. First, it's been a few months, and any post-partum blues may have lessened a bit. Second, my brother actually took her aside and "had a long talk with her" about how she treated the new grandmother. As a result, she went out of her way to include my mother, and only snarked a little bit from time to time about stupid crap. You know, my mom couldn't take hair spray on the plane, so she asked her if she could borrow a spritz of her "spray net," and my SIL sneered "WHAT? Do you mean "HAIR SPRAY"?" and crap like that. A lot fewer instances of "You're doing it WRONG!!" and no refusal to let my mother touch the child, though.
I think that differences in taste and class are coming to the fore at this point, and, to make it clear, we were brought up with antiques and pianos and brandy decanters and family silver and conservative furnishings and high-church Episcopal services and old-fashioned smocked dresses and so on. There is an element of snobbery here, though "snobbery" isn't really accurate. There's no "this is the only, and best, way" attitude, really, just a "nice things are better than particleboard furniture" attitude. It is so ingrained that it surprised me when my mother turned up her nose at the lovely house my roommate and I were renting because the landlady had chosen to paint the hardwood floors upstairs rather than sanding and staining them, and the yard was clean, but had no gardens. We were all young and unmarried and had disposable but nice furniture, and she didn't care for that, either. However, she did get over her 'tude long enough to recognize that, with limited funds and other individuals' tastes and finances to take into account, we'd done the best we could, and the house looked nice once you took that into account. Her change in 'tude may have also been a result of me getting fed up and suggesting that she gift us with some better furniture if she didn't like what we were able to afford. Once money came into the picture and she was put on the spot, suddenly we were doing just fine with what we had.
My sister-in-law doesn't have bad taste, but she does like and accept things that are supposedly a little lower-brow than what my mom likes. Instead of Hummel figurines crewel-work upholstery on Queen Anne sofas, hardwood floors, flat white walls accented with semi-gloss white on the moldings, dozens of bookshelves and a tiny, discreet, single television, her taste runs more to dollar store pig figurines, overstuffed "Rooms To Go" couch sets covered in poly-cotton covers, wall-to-wall carpeting, coloured paint on the walls, "Bless This Mess" plaques and a huge widescreen television (four or five of them, actually). It is a different taste, not BAD taste. My SIL doesn't mind modern-ish contemporary furnishings, but, really, they have more in common than not. Their home is lovely, and well-kept. To me, the biggest difference is that my SIL collects china with grapes on it, while my mother prefers Franciscan Apple china and Blue Willow and stuff with crabs on it. What's the huge difference?
My mom griped to me about the service they went to at the Methodist church, too. She thought that sticking a bow on top of the baby's head with tape was tacky, that a white satin bib with a huge yellow cross on it (placed over the smocked, lacy christening dress) was tacky, and that people talking while the acolyte (in blue jeans) sauntered down the aisle to light candles on the altar was tacky. I shrugged and pointed out that Whiskeypalian Aerobics aren't for everyone (sit, stand, pray, sit, kneel, stand, sing, sit, pray, stand, sing, pray, sit, kneel, do laps up to the communion rail to eat, drink, pray, run back, sit, kneel, stand, sing, sing, pray, sit, kneel, stand, pray, etcetera), but she had her feathers ruffled. I can see right here, as my mother has a way of making her opinion known without opening her mouth to opine, that my SIL might not appreciate her judgments.
I'm not religious, but I was raised with Whiskeypalian Aerobics and dressing up for church, and getting into a reverent frame of mind when you enter a house of worship (even if it is not your house of worship or even your faith, which is why I get invited to religious services for people outside my faith and know how to behave myself and be respectful and solemn). This just makes sense to me, but isn't something I feel a need for in my life (I can be just as reverent taking a walk in the woods or meditating at home). I don't think the casual dress or chit-chat would bother me as much as it did my mom, but I would notice it and, perhaps, compare it unfavourably with what i expect to find in a church. On the other hand, people need to feel welcome in their house of worship, and if casualness appeals, and makes it easier for the congregants to attend regularly (and if they need to be in a specific house of worship each week), then there's no big issue for me.
At any rate, though I avoided the drama and hassle of flying up and back this weekend, I still got dragged into the situation because my mother would not consider driving herself to the airport, parking for two days there, and then driving herself home. So I had to chauffeur her there and back, with her pointing out each exit (not necessary, thank you) and worrying about the rain clouds on the horizon, and making me drive all the way back home because she left a jacket on a chair and didn't want to do without it, even though it was 100 degrees Fahrenheit outside, and she didn't like my music, and she didn't like how I drove, and she didn't like a lot of things. This is how she is. She expresses her opinion when she isn't asked for it. She isn't aware, however, of how this comes off. She was an only child, slightly spoilt, and is an educated and valued professional, and she chairs various prestigious committees on a regular basis, and her opinion is sought more often than not. Her own family tires of it being endlessly expressed, however.
She often complains that we don't converse enough, so I made an attempt to start several conversations, and her response was to be dismissive of various things. Myers-Briggs is voodoo akin to newspaper astrology columns. I'm a bad person who doesn't eat enough vegetables every day. My mobile phone sucks, and my suggestion that we go and get me a non-sucky one for my birthday is a great idea, but she has strong opinions about which one I can have, even though she knows nothing about mobile phones, and even though I said I'd pay for it, I just need her to go with me since the account was a gift a couple of years ago and she is the account holder. I'll pick my own damn phone, thanks, and pay for it myself, just show up, as a favour to me, for my birthday gift, and don't even fret about the cost, I'll pay for what i want myself. The light three blocks away is yellow, shouldn't I hit the brakes now? I need a haircut. I could overcome my collapsible arches through sheer force of will if I only applied myself, it's only because I am stubborn that my arches collapse, never mind that they have done so since I was born. (On the plus side, my wonky feet have saved me from a number of sprains and breaks over the years, because I can be a klutz, and my ankles just roll rather than snapping. So I can't wear super high heels every single day without suffering the torments of the damned. Maybe I should focus on the positives, since I have no corns or bunions or hammertoes, and haven't ever hurt my ankles badly enough to require crutches or a cast. I think it comes out about even.) I'd look good in beige (even though I am pale and blonde and look like death in beige) as long as I had colour near my face, my car (which I had cleaned out before picking her up) needed to go to the car wash (it does, but who has time?), and a trip to the airport that takes 30 minutes at most still requires us to leave four hours early for her flight. By the time she got out of the car, I was glad to see her go, and hated feeling that way.
I was so annoyed after being interrupted every time I tried to find a topic she couldn't find too much fault with, and being scolded and lectured, albeit with love and the best of intentions and heartfelt maternal concern, that I was in a royal funk by the time I got her on her way and headed home. If I were a cartoon, I'd have that dark scribbly cloud of ire over my head and frowny eyebrows. I promptly missed an exit on the way home, after being grouchy about her pointing every single turn out on the way up there, and I was royally pissed about it. I knew immediately that I had done it, and it would take me twenty minutes (miles) to find a turn-around because we live in a goddamned swamp and there can be miles between settlements, and, worst of all, I typically never get lost or miss an exit. God damn it. My inner compass is pretty skilled, and I can read roadsigns, and I have a sense, when backtracking, of how far it is between places I need to turn, and I still missed my exit because I was so busy angrily smoking and fuming and replaying the conversations we had on the way upo to see if I even had a chance of hitting on something innocuous or if I should have just sat in sullen silence and let her have a monologue instead, as I choose to do sometimes. I tried to be pleasant and make a connection, and ended up so annoyed and defensive and cranky that it took over my entire brain like a plague.
So, yeah, wrong turn, out in the boonies, expecting to hear banjos playing "Deliverance" riffs at any moment, surrounded on all sides by SUVs with soccer balls, anti-choice and W stickers and pick'em-up trucks with guns and dawgs in the back STARING at me, getting further and further away from the turn I missed, and OH SO ANNOYED was I. Sure, I got a lovely view of the swamps and red clay desolation of Bent Elbow County, Georgia. Motherfuck!! I completely lost my cool after struggling to maintain equilibrium and cheeriness on the way up to the airport, especially after having to make a round trip back home to get a farking jacket she didn't need, and I just about lost my mind. Jeezum Crow, that sucked. I knew better than to mention it, however, as I would hear about it until the day I (or my mom) died if I confessed to my moment of human weakness and fallibility. Of course, I am not overly proud, or I wouldn't mention it here. But hell, you guys, I navigate around just fine. I have traveled all over the US in my car and been able to get to Point A from Point B without fail. I was certainly capable of getting to the damn airport, a place I've been to many times, without a navigator. Of course, getting home again while royally annoyed proved to be another thing. At least it won't happen again. I sure as hell managed to get home without incident, even with a headache, no depth perception, in the dark, in the rain, with my mother yammering away in the passenger seat. *grumble*
Normally I shrug this stuff off. What's wrong with me? Do I need to adjust my serotonin or something?
And I do SO eat mah vegetables, darn it. I had a big mess'o'lima beans the night before. That WAS my supper. JUST veggies. My body said it wanted them, so it got 'em. Meanwhile, my brain was busy telling me other things, in a loud and perturbed tone of voice, and it had a lot to say: *grumble* Need to eat more vegetables, she says. Humph. Next she'll tell me I'm slouching. Ratcha-fricken vegetables, I'm an adult, I brush my teeth and take my vitamins too, even, *fuss fuss grumble* YOU DOn'T KNOW ME. YOu'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. .... *mumble gripe fuss* Vegetables. I ask you. Beige? Is she mad? .... Jungian archetypes equivalent to astrology?! Farfenugen!* Baptism, schaptism. And a little sprinkle of rain isn't going to crash your stupid plane. Worrywart. .... Bombs in shoes, feh. Al Qaeda targetting fucking Georgia? You mad, daft woman. You make me mental. *gripe mumble grumble* .... Oh shit, wasn't that my exit? .... !!! .... Oh, MAN! Crap! That was my exit. @#$%@!!!! @#$%@!!!! @#$%@!!!! *head ASPLODES into teeny bits of pink confetti and bile*
When she was due to return, I got four phone calls to remind me of her flight and arrival time, then she didn't bother to call to let me know her flight was delayed by an hour and a half, so I sat around for two hours in the airport parking lot until I got heatsick and needed to eat something to stave off a hypoglycaemic attack. When she finally disembarked, my freshly showered body was covered in sweat and airport grunge, I had a headache like an icepick being jammed into my right eye and wasn't in the mood for monkey business.
I drove home one-eyed with pain, and was regaled with tales about how the niece has a mohawk mullet (okay, that's just wrong, make it not be so) and the offensive satin bib thing (crosses as decor offend my mother), and an offensive cupcake the baby was given that had another tacky plastic cross stuck into it (and?), plus every moment of snarkiness my SIL indulged in. To be frank, I suspect that they were both being annoying gits and clashing, but I was not there. On purpose.
So i was looking forward to a quiet week, with my mother starting her new job, and my classes ending for the semester. My only obligations were to fetch groceries, find where I hid my Flash/Actionscript textbook I will need for my fall classes, and to wash a few loads of clothes. I got a call first thing this morning and my mother's car's battery was dead, and she needed me to take her dentist appointment because she couldn't make it, and so my day is going to be a long series of annoyances and sore teeth. (Well, my teeth are pretty good, but with my luck I am going to have a huge cavity, something I never have.) I'm going to have to chauffeur her back and forth, and I'm on my second shower of the day because it is like walking into a sauna outside. So much for taking it easy.
I'm a terrible daughter. I'm cranky and resentful that my free day is no longer free, and yet my mom would do the same for me if my battery was dead (and has, though she did not rearrange her schedule to do so). It's not even that I mind so much helping with that, I'm mad about the timing. Are dead batteries EVER convenient, though?
Ugh. Damn it.
My niece has a mullet, my SIL and my mom have an uneasy detente, I have work to do, my teeth are going to be painfully scraped today, and I'm going to have to go out in this unbearable heat several times to deal with my mom's battery problem. I'm feeling whiny and guilty for whining over stupid trivial things. I'm really feeling the loss of my free day, and sulking about it. I suck.
Oh well, I'll handle it, and my mood will improve in a little while. I think what's bugging me the most is my reaction to these minor upheavals. I'm mad at myself for being a big, sulky baby. It's just aggravating. MEH!!
Feel free to taunt me because I have a niece with a mullet and a bow stuck on her head with band-aids and because I am not being graceful about some kinks in my day's schedule. I deserve the rebukes. Of course, in an hour or two, I'll be over it and muddle through. *shrug*
* That is German for "My goddamn 'check engine' light won't go off!" Or "driving excitement". Either / or.
My mom went to visit my brother and sister-in-law and niece this weekend. I was conveniently busy with grad school obligations. Faithful readers may remember my annoyance with my sister-in-law earlier this year when she made my mother cry. I had low expectations that this trip would be different, but still hoped it would.
Apparently my sister-in-law has, indeed, toned down her nastiness, and we're assuming it is due to two things. First, it's been a few months, and any post-partum blues may have lessened a bit. Second, my brother actually took her aside and "had a long talk with her" about how she treated the new grandmother. As a result, she went out of her way to include my mother, and only snarked a little bit from time to time about stupid crap. You know, my mom couldn't take hair spray on the plane, so she asked her if she could borrow a spritz of her "spray net," and my SIL sneered "WHAT? Do you mean "HAIR SPRAY"?" and crap like that. A lot fewer instances of "You're doing it WRONG!!" and no refusal to let my mother touch the child, though.
I think that differences in taste and class are coming to the fore at this point, and, to make it clear, we were brought up with antiques and pianos and brandy decanters and family silver and conservative furnishings and high-church Episcopal services and old-fashioned smocked dresses and so on. There is an element of snobbery here, though "snobbery" isn't really accurate. There's no "this is the only, and best, way" attitude, really, just a "nice things are better than particleboard furniture" attitude. It is so ingrained that it surprised me when my mother turned up her nose at the lovely house my roommate and I were renting because the landlady had chosen to paint the hardwood floors upstairs rather than sanding and staining them, and the yard was clean, but had no gardens. We were all young and unmarried and had disposable but nice furniture, and she didn't care for that, either. However, she did get over her 'tude long enough to recognize that, with limited funds and other individuals' tastes and finances to take into account, we'd done the best we could, and the house looked nice once you took that into account. Her change in 'tude may have also been a result of me getting fed up and suggesting that she gift us with some better furniture if she didn't like what we were able to afford. Once money came into the picture and she was put on the spot, suddenly we were doing just fine with what we had.
My sister-in-law doesn't have bad taste, but she does like and accept things that are supposedly a little lower-brow than what my mom likes. Instead of Hummel figurines crewel-work upholstery on Queen Anne sofas, hardwood floors, flat white walls accented with semi-gloss white on the moldings, dozens of bookshelves and a tiny, discreet, single television, her taste runs more to dollar store pig figurines, overstuffed "Rooms To Go" couch sets covered in poly-cotton covers, wall-to-wall carpeting, coloured paint on the walls, "Bless This Mess" plaques and a huge widescreen television (four or five of them, actually). It is a different taste, not BAD taste. My SIL doesn't mind modern-ish contemporary furnishings, but, really, they have more in common than not. Their home is lovely, and well-kept. To me, the biggest difference is that my SIL collects china with grapes on it, while my mother prefers Franciscan Apple china and Blue Willow and stuff with crabs on it. What's the huge difference?
My mom griped to me about the service they went to at the Methodist church, too. She thought that sticking a bow on top of the baby's head with tape was tacky, that a white satin bib with a huge yellow cross on it (placed over the smocked, lacy christening dress) was tacky, and that people talking while the acolyte (in blue jeans) sauntered down the aisle to light candles on the altar was tacky. I shrugged and pointed out that Whiskeypalian Aerobics aren't for everyone (sit, stand, pray, sit, kneel, stand, sing, sit, pray, stand, sing, pray, sit, kneel, do laps up to the communion rail to eat, drink, pray, run back, sit, kneel, stand, sing, sing, pray, sit, kneel, stand, pray, etcetera), but she had her feathers ruffled. I can see right here, as my mother has a way of making her opinion known without opening her mouth to opine, that my SIL might not appreciate her judgments.
I'm not religious, but I was raised with Whiskeypalian Aerobics and dressing up for church, and getting into a reverent frame of mind when you enter a house of worship (even if it is not your house of worship or even your faith, which is why I get invited to religious services for people outside my faith and know how to behave myself and be respectful and solemn). This just makes sense to me, but isn't something I feel a need for in my life (I can be just as reverent taking a walk in the woods or meditating at home). I don't think the casual dress or chit-chat would bother me as much as it did my mom, but I would notice it and, perhaps, compare it unfavourably with what i expect to find in a church. On the other hand, people need to feel welcome in their house of worship, and if casualness appeals, and makes it easier for the congregants to attend regularly (and if they need to be in a specific house of worship each week), then there's no big issue for me.
At any rate, though I avoided the drama and hassle of flying up and back this weekend, I still got dragged into the situation because my mother would not consider driving herself to the airport, parking for two days there, and then driving herself home. So I had to chauffeur her there and back, with her pointing out each exit (not necessary, thank you) and worrying about the rain clouds on the horizon, and making me drive all the way back home because she left a jacket on a chair and didn't want to do without it, even though it was 100 degrees Fahrenheit outside, and she didn't like my music, and she didn't like how I drove, and she didn't like a lot of things. This is how she is. She expresses her opinion when she isn't asked for it. She isn't aware, however, of how this comes off. She was an only child, slightly spoilt, and is an educated and valued professional, and she chairs various prestigious committees on a regular basis, and her opinion is sought more often than not. Her own family tires of it being endlessly expressed, however.
She often complains that we don't converse enough, so I made an attempt to start several conversations, and her response was to be dismissive of various things. Myers-Briggs is voodoo akin to newspaper astrology columns. I'm a bad person who doesn't eat enough vegetables every day. My mobile phone sucks, and my suggestion that we go and get me a non-sucky one for my birthday is a great idea, but she has strong opinions about which one I can have, even though she knows nothing about mobile phones, and even though I said I'd pay for it, I just need her to go with me since the account was a gift a couple of years ago and she is the account holder. I'll pick my own damn phone, thanks, and pay for it myself, just show up, as a favour to me, for my birthday gift, and don't even fret about the cost, I'll pay for what i want myself. The light three blocks away is yellow, shouldn't I hit the brakes now? I need a haircut. I could overcome my collapsible arches through sheer force of will if I only applied myself, it's only because I am stubborn that my arches collapse, never mind that they have done so since I was born. (On the plus side, my wonky feet have saved me from a number of sprains and breaks over the years, because I can be a klutz, and my ankles just roll rather than snapping. So I can't wear super high heels every single day without suffering the torments of the damned. Maybe I should focus on the positives, since I have no corns or bunions or hammertoes, and haven't ever hurt my ankles badly enough to require crutches or a cast. I think it comes out about even.) I'd look good in beige (even though I am pale and blonde and look like death in beige) as long as I had colour near my face, my car (which I had cleaned out before picking her up) needed to go to the car wash (it does, but who has time?), and a trip to the airport that takes 30 minutes at most still requires us to leave four hours early for her flight. By the time she got out of the car, I was glad to see her go, and hated feeling that way.
I was so annoyed after being interrupted every time I tried to find a topic she couldn't find too much fault with, and being scolded and lectured, albeit with love and the best of intentions and heartfelt maternal concern, that I was in a royal funk by the time I got her on her way and headed home. If I were a cartoon, I'd have that dark scribbly cloud of ire over my head and frowny eyebrows. I promptly missed an exit on the way home, after being grouchy about her pointing every single turn out on the way up there, and I was royally pissed about it. I knew immediately that I had done it, and it would take me twenty minutes (miles) to find a turn-around because we live in a goddamned swamp and there can be miles between settlements, and, worst of all, I typically never get lost or miss an exit. God damn it. My inner compass is pretty skilled, and I can read roadsigns, and I have a sense, when backtracking, of how far it is between places I need to turn, and I still missed my exit because I was so busy angrily smoking and fuming and replaying the conversations we had on the way upo to see if I even had a chance of hitting on something innocuous or if I should have just sat in sullen silence and let her have a monologue instead, as I choose to do sometimes. I tried to be pleasant and make a connection, and ended up so annoyed and defensive and cranky that it took over my entire brain like a plague.
So, yeah, wrong turn, out in the boonies, expecting to hear banjos playing "Deliverance" riffs at any moment, surrounded on all sides by SUVs with soccer balls, anti-choice and W stickers and pick'em-up trucks with guns and dawgs in the back STARING at me, getting further and further away from the turn I missed, and OH SO ANNOYED was I. Sure, I got a lovely view of the swamps and red clay desolation of Bent Elbow County, Georgia. Motherfuck!! I completely lost my cool after struggling to maintain equilibrium and cheeriness on the way up to the airport, especially after having to make a round trip back home to get a farking jacket she didn't need, and I just about lost my mind. Jeezum Crow, that sucked. I knew better than to mention it, however, as I would hear about it until the day I (or my mom) died if I confessed to my moment of human weakness and fallibility. Of course, I am not overly proud, or I wouldn't mention it here. But hell, you guys, I navigate around just fine. I have traveled all over the US in my car and been able to get to Point A from Point B without fail. I was certainly capable of getting to the damn airport, a place I've been to many times, without a navigator. Of course, getting home again while royally annoyed proved to be another thing. At least it won't happen again. I sure as hell managed to get home without incident, even with a headache, no depth perception, in the dark, in the rain, with my mother yammering away in the passenger seat. *grumble*
Normally I shrug this stuff off. What's wrong with me? Do I need to adjust my serotonin or something?
And I do SO eat mah vegetables, darn it. I had a big mess'o'lima beans the night before. That WAS my supper. JUST veggies. My body said it wanted them, so it got 'em. Meanwhile, my brain was busy telling me other things, in a loud and perturbed tone of voice, and it had a lot to say: *grumble* Need to eat more vegetables, she says. Humph. Next she'll tell me I'm slouching. Ratcha-fricken vegetables, I'm an adult, I brush my teeth and take my vitamins too, even, *fuss fuss grumble* YOU DOn'T KNOW ME. YOu'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. .... *mumble gripe fuss* Vegetables. I ask you. Beige? Is she mad? .... Jungian archetypes equivalent to astrology?! Farfenugen!* Baptism, schaptism. And a little sprinkle of rain isn't going to crash your stupid plane. Worrywart. .... Bombs in shoes, feh. Al Qaeda targetting fucking Georgia? You mad, daft woman. You make me mental. *gripe mumble grumble* .... Oh shit, wasn't that my exit? .... !!! .... Oh, MAN! Crap! That was my exit. @#$%@!!!! @#$%@!!!! @#$%@!!!! *head ASPLODES into teeny bits of pink confetti and bile*
When she was due to return, I got four phone calls to remind me of her flight and arrival time, then she didn't bother to call to let me know her flight was delayed by an hour and a half, so I sat around for two hours in the airport parking lot until I got heatsick and needed to eat something to stave off a hypoglycaemic attack. When she finally disembarked, my freshly showered body was covered in sweat and airport grunge, I had a headache like an icepick being jammed into my right eye and wasn't in the mood for monkey business.
I drove home one-eyed with pain, and was regaled with tales about how the niece has a mohawk mullet (okay, that's just wrong, make it not be so) and the offensive satin bib thing (crosses as decor offend my mother), and an offensive cupcake the baby was given that had another tacky plastic cross stuck into it (and?), plus every moment of snarkiness my SIL indulged in. To be frank, I suspect that they were both being annoying gits and clashing, but I was not there. On purpose.
So i was looking forward to a quiet week, with my mother starting her new job, and my classes ending for the semester. My only obligations were to fetch groceries, find where I hid my Flash/Actionscript textbook I will need for my fall classes, and to wash a few loads of clothes. I got a call first thing this morning and my mother's car's battery was dead, and she needed me to take her dentist appointment because she couldn't make it, and so my day is going to be a long series of annoyances and sore teeth. (Well, my teeth are pretty good, but with my luck I am going to have a huge cavity, something I never have.) I'm going to have to chauffeur her back and forth, and I'm on my second shower of the day because it is like walking into a sauna outside. So much for taking it easy.
I'm a terrible daughter. I'm cranky and resentful that my free day is no longer free, and yet my mom would do the same for me if my battery was dead (and has, though she did not rearrange her schedule to do so). It's not even that I mind so much helping with that, I'm mad about the timing. Are dead batteries EVER convenient, though?
Ugh. Damn it.
My niece has a mullet, my SIL and my mom have an uneasy detente, I have work to do, my teeth are going to be painfully scraped today, and I'm going to have to go out in this unbearable heat several times to deal with my mom's battery problem. I'm feeling whiny and guilty for whining over stupid trivial things. I'm really feeling the loss of my free day, and sulking about it. I suck.
Oh well, I'll handle it, and my mood will improve in a little while. I think what's bugging me the most is my reaction to these minor upheavals. I'm mad at myself for being a big, sulky baby. It's just aggravating. MEH!!
Feel free to taunt me because I have a niece with a mullet and a bow stuck on her head with band-aids and because I am not being graceful about some kinks in my day's schedule. I deserve the rebukes. Of course, in an hour or two, I'll be over it and muddle through. *shrug*
* That is German for "My goddamn 'check engine' light won't go off!" Or "driving excitement". Either / or.