Crabalicious

Unfortunately, the title doesn't describe my dinner tonight--rather, it describes my mood lately.

I'm crabby because summer is drawing to a fast close (seemingly overnight) and I don't feel I got to bid it a proper goodbye. Nor am I ready for it to leave. Which is sad because I like fall--in fact, fall used to be one of my favorite seasons--but I'm starting to hate fall because I know what lurks around the corner. And every year I get older, winter becomes just that much more difficult for me to endure. I know it sounds crazy, but I just can't deal with winter. I fared pretty well last year (thanks, Zoloft), but even with the aid of antidepressants, I still started to lose my bananas around mid-January. And at that point, spring is still a good 10 to 12 weeks away.

I'm crabby because one of our team at work has mono. Yes, you read that correctly. No, you don't have to be a horny 8th-grader to get it. I've had it three (yes, three) times since I was 17, and not once did I "catch" it from another person, nor did I infect any of my friends, family or roommates. (Dammit.) So while I'm not terribly concerned about contracting it from this person, I am having to deal with the added workload that comes with her absence. Granted, I'm only doing the same work she did before I was hired, but I still don't feel entirely comfortable that I'm doing everything right yet. (The upside to this--overtime, baby. Just in time for birthday season at the Green house.)

I'm crabby because Bob is driving. me. nuts. I'm really starting to dread the weekends he's home because it's 48 solid hours of "hey Mom hey Mom hey Mom look at this Mom watch this Mom hey Mom want to play a game with me Mom? Hey Mom can I go ask my friends if they want to play Mom hey Mom can I have a drink hey Mom did you know some flowers are growing out on the deck hey Mom I'm bored hey Mom can I play a video game hey Mom want to watch me play a video game" and so on and so forth until I start pulling my hair out by the fistfull.

I'm crabby because I'm fat. The 2.5 pounds I recently lost? Back. And I'm not happy about it. So I've decided it's just time. I'm going to wear the clothes I have and if they're too tight, then that's too fucking bad--I'm going to have to just deal with it and/or stop eating so damn much and exercise more. When I dropped all my weight, I was only working out 3-5 times a week, not 7. I can handle that. And if I can't, I'd better get used to looking like the Michelin Man in my size 8 cords.

I'm crabby because the goldenrod and ragweed and every other plant that makes me sneeze is in full force and effect.

I'm crabby because being on the pill is, I've decided, not going to work. I simply cannot tolerate hormonal birth control. I thought maybe I could, as every other time I've tried it, there have been other sources of drama that could have contributed to my insanity, and perhaps it wasn't the bc at all. Nope. Life has been relatively drama-free the past three weeks I've been popping the little pink pills. The only thing that's changed is I've become a crazy bitch. Everything irritates the bejeezus out of me, my fuse is shorter than short, and I just feel like I want to take hostages and hole up in a bunker with a year's worth of Hostess products. So yesterday, I told Ben I wasn't going to take the little pink pill, and I didn't. I didn't take it today, either. Now the question is, do we stop having sex altogether or seek alternative methods for baby prevention?

I'm crabby because I want to spend lots and lots of money on various and sundry items and I can't because there's no money to spend.

The good news? Tomorrow's Monday. The laundry's nearly done. And next weekend, Bob will be at db's and Moosebaby is having his first professional photo shoot. :)