Today I find myself irritated and tetchy and just OFF. A friend called a few days ago and wanted to meet up for coffee, she’s a new mom and needed to get out of the house so I invited her over to my place for coffee and tea and croissants and strawberries, a nice little breakfast party, the whole shebang.
And now the morning has come and I’m so IRRITATED I could spit. My whole schedule has been thrown off kilter, I woke up too early, we ran out of toilet paper, Adam brought home an 89” television that is currently absorbing my living room into its black hole of a screen, I don’t have time to sit and compose a post like I normally would, sit and sip my coffee and read “my stories” like I normally would, I’m dreading making conversation and talking about the baby and why am I such a horrible person?
I love this woman, I adore her baby, I genuinely like her company and was definitely excited to see them both when I initially planned this visit (See: Croissants, strawberries).
And in examining my emotions and the source of all this early-morning rage I have become painfully aware of the fact that I am, essentially, an eighty-five year old man, stubbornly yelling “We don’t have breakfast BEFORE the news we eat breakfast AFTER the news. That’s not the type of orange juice we usually have, I only drink the no-pulp kind, I HATE PULP, JACKASS! It’s Tuesday that means my blue cardigan this isn’t my blue cardigan WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY BLUE CARDIGAN? IT’S TUESDAY!”
That’s me. Right now. Except my cardigan is pink