I've spent most of the day with an internal mad going. You know how it goes. One thing on top of another on top of another and then somebody does something and you snap. And you spend the rest of the day with your juices at a low boil. And the straw that breaks your camel's back is generally some piffling bulls--t that's not worth your attention, much less letting your whole system go arse over teakettle.
The bottom line is I'm tired. And when I get tired, watch out. The folks at work have been warned for many years that if you want to know how I really feel, ask me when I'm tired. You will get the unvarnished, unadulterated truth with no attempt to apply diplomatic filters. And when I reach that point, I don't waste my time feeling any guilt over bruised feelings.
It's mostly the fallout of two months of unending work. Add to that a round of doctor visits with my mother and the threat of a hospital stay that I know would cause more troubles than it would solve. (Thankfully that one got nipped in the bud by a doctor with a conflicting view of the situation.) Then the crowds of people out buying school supplies and making it impossible for a lunch time shopper to make any headway at all. Multiplied by the number of drivers who go completely incompetent when they see a few drops of rain. Divided by housework that there is no time to do. And then the straw.
There are several blogs that I read that I've come to count on to lift my spirits for a few minutes during the day. Sometimes they give me a laugh, sometimes a thought to ponder, and sometimes a similar experience to commiserate. Yesterday, one of my favorite blogs turned into a mud-slinging fight over one of those subjects that is best avoided in mixed company. (You know what they are: politics, religion and sex.) A little venting of frustration over the economy and the war. And then all hell broke loose, thanks to a super patriot who blasted their opinion (in triplicate) that a real American does not criticize or question those in charge. The blogger in question finally had it and invited the pious patriot to exit the discussion if they couldn't be civil. Then World War III broke out.
Well. The fallout of all that was a very real possibility that someone whose writing I have thoroughly enjoyed will pull the plug on the blog. All due to a small-minded person who couldn't stand anyone to disagree with them. My vicarious anger over the situation pushed me into the Mean Red zone.
Thank goodness for little dogs. They are every bit as good for my spirits as a trip to Tiffany's was for Holly Golightly. Everything is beginning to settle back to an even keel. For now. I'm actually beginning to catch up at work. We didn't have to do the hospital thing after all. School started (just those college kids in the stores now). Yesterday's afternoon rain waited to start until I was turning into the subdivision. And I'm going to take a moratorium on reading that particular blog for awhile. When I need a lift, I'm going to grab a puppy and get some of those unrestrained kisses that they dole out so willingly. Good medicine for the Mean Reds. As Scarlett was wont to say, "I'll think about that tomorrow. After all tomorrow is another day."
*By the way, if you don't get the reference to the Mean Reds, you need to rent Breakfast at Tiffany's. Holly Golightly defined them as worse than a case of the blues. The Mean Reds for her was when you're scared and you don't know why. The only thing that would cheer her up was a trip to Tiffany's, because nothing bad could happen to you in Tiffany's. Of course, she only had a cat. What she really needed was a puppy dog.