Ever have one of those weeks when it just might be hazardous for the general public should you venture out?
When your kid is voluntarily doing the dishes, not complaining about school work, and is hiding out in his room rereading the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series to avoid your wrath? When your man works overtime pretty much every day in the hopes that your crabby butt will have fallen asleep by the time he gets home? When even your DOGS are like, Naw, we're good, when you half-heartedly toss them a tennis ball? When you're so exhausted that you mentally run through the energy requirements for a simple, everyday task (like getting dressed) and go, Man, screw it?
I am having one of those weeks.
Which explains why I haven't posted this week. I've been too much of a beotch to write anything other than: I have been too much of a beotch. And that's not funny. Or interesting. Now, sometimes my cranky moods are humorous. Mostly because my bipolar-ass doesn't have that politeness filter than unipoles are blessed with/limited by. Medicine keeps me on a more or less even keel, but it's not magic. It doesn't createth in me a new personality. It only slightly raises my tolerance for BS.
This is probably because psychotropic medication ain't got nothing on hormones.
And I'm manufacturing that stuff like a crackhouse pharmacist. I'm not really much of a PMSer, so this is new for me. Which leads me to believe that I'm either incubating Edward Cullen's vampire child or I'm starting the CHANGE. (As if errant chin hairs weren't my first clue.)
I realize that this is one of those TMI situations, and if I wasn't so hormonal, I'd toss out a half-hearted apology for that. But I am so I won't. Instead, I will leave you with some funny pictures to make up for my lack of joie de vivre.