Lost in the High Crankies

Yesterday I was lost in the peaks of the High Cranky. Everything — from my toothbrush to the computer (damn wonky apps and fucked up wifi!) to my slippers (there’s a hole in the damn toe now!) — and everything in between was annoying me clean to Tartarus and back.

Irritable city.

Boyoboy I was grouchy, peevish, uptight, bristly, dour and flat out cantankerous. I was in defcon ogre mode. Saltwater crocodiles had nothin’ on me.

Warum? Eh, I’ve been doing a lot of new stuff lately. There’ve been some Everest-like learning curves and it’s everywhere I turn.

Such as:

* Design work — I need to attain a true Zen calm to do this shit successfully. Every last one of us has a different idea of what constitutes sleek sophisticated beauty. As it turns out, my concept is quite different from most. There’re these things called nuance and delicacy — huh, I’m gonna have to research this.

* That awesome new trike — I need to learn how to ride using the gears. GEARS! I’ve never had a bike or trike with these babies before. There doesn’t seem to be a Vulcan mind meld or Matrix-y  plug in either — ya know, a painless, fast way to acquire the knowledge and fresh skills I need. This is gonna take time and it's cold out. Sighsnivelwhine.

* The Amazing Bob’s a little more delicate these days — he’s getting to be a seasoned old geezer. What this means is that I’m attempting to be less of a self obsessed, demanding twat and more of a focused, giving, observant, nice good wife. Shut up — I CAN SO do this!

The risk, seeing as this is new territory for me, is that I’ll be all whirling dervish-y, pestering and fretting over him night and day. (You didn’t eat all your food. Have a tiny bit more. K? Put a scarf on before we head out — it’s cold today. You didn’t sleep much last night — tonight you’ll have a cup of chamomile tea before bed AND you’ll like it!) Fussing, one of my more pronounced super powers as it turns out. Hells, I’ve been “yes mother”ed a few times in the last day alone. I suppose this is a good tip off that I’m perhaps plaguing the poor man versus kindly seeing to his needs.

Or am I? How can I know for sure? (The fuss and paranoia is strong with this one.)

Learning new things. Advancing to the next level. I can do this but, mother ‘o’ pearl, it's hard. Stressful. I feel like I’m walking a tightrope over a croc filled failure moat (hyperbole much, Donna?).

All this and, in all my Words with Friends games, I’ve got nothing but “i”s and “t”s. Sure fine if all I want to spell is “tit” but c’mon, that’s an embarrassing THREE points!

And hey you kids — get off my lawn!