This is one of these free-flowing posts where I have to preface it with: Mom, either don't read, or take a Xanax first, or just don't worry. I'm just venting.
But I have seriously confirmed that I am a proud sufferer of Seasonal Affectation Disorder as we await another freakin' winter severe alert storm here in lovely STUPID ASS CHICAGO, and I am miserable. I discovered I am mostly pretty much miserable all through December, and hate the whole month with a passion. I hate shopping. I get no joy out of it. I hate Christmas music, almost all of it. I hate listening to it in the stores. I hate malls. I hate ... and you know what, I just had a thought, if you're going to Bah Humbug me in the comments, just don't bother, because I never freaking gripe and bitch all that much and share my inner feelings too openly here and I am doing it now because at one point today Diva wanted to go out and play in the fucking snow, and did I mention I hate FUCKING snow, and I just finally said, "Go out, and if you come back sick, I don't care!" I hate gearing them up to go play in that white crap. I hate when they come in drenched and then I have to put all their stuff in the dryer. I hate the noise the dryer makes when all the zippers and buckles hit the inside of the dryer clanging all about inside of it. I hate that at Target on Tuesday I was buying stocking stuffers and a HUGE CART FULL of last-minute crap for THE WHOLE WORLD and this cute little OLD MAN WHO I LET CUT IN FRONT OF ME was buying ONE ROLL OF WRAPPING PAPER.
I said to him, "It must be nice to get to come to Target needing ONLY ONE ROLL OF WRAP!"
I would LOVE to be a MAN during the holiday season, wouldn't YOU!? How about THAT for a holiday movie? Yes! Let's write a holiday movie like Freaky Friday about a man and a woman who get switched on December 1 and the guy gets to do all the crap the woman gets to do FOR THE WHOLE MONTH and the woman can be the guy for the whole month and watch FOOTBALL every Sunday and the guy can go fight the crowds, put up decorations, send out cards of the cute freaking kids (WHICH I DID NOT DO THIS YEAR FOR THE FIRST YEAR IN ABOUT 20 YEARS AND MY KIDS AREN'T EVEN THAT OLD!).
YEAH, I WANNA SEE THAT MOVIE, DREAMWORKS!
So, at one point this afternoon, I just flat-out screamed in my house: I AM SOOOO CRABBY! Did it make me feel better? I don't know. Is typing this making me feel better? I don't know. My house is a mess. A storm is coming. I am still in my pajamas. I have a shitload of work to do. A kid is coming in here to ask my something for the twelfth-millionth time and if he asks me again I will scream, and now he is tapping his fingers or toes or something and he is beat-boxing with his mouth and if he doesn't just shut the hell up in like two seconds I might just blow a gasket. and that's another thing I wonder sometimes, is how many times in my life have I yelled at the kids, the boys specificially, "STOP TAPPING!" Do your kids do that? Do they just tap and jitter and make unneccessary noise just for the sake of making noise?
I don't know if this is making me feel any better but just the fact that my fingers are moving so fast on the keyboard is helping I think. I wish I could scream through my fingertips. I don't know what I would say but I am sure it would be loud as hell.
I do not get any joy out of the holidays. What is joyful? Do the kids appreciate all the gifts? I don't think so? Do I appreciate the mess I will have to clean up? Do I appreciate having to cook? Do I appreciate ... I don't appreciate any of it.
WHAT IS THE WHOLE MEANING OF IT AND YES, THE KID IS STILL IN HERE TAPPING AWAY WAITING TO GET MY ATTENTION AND I THINK I REALLY, REALLY REALLY DO HATE DECEMBER.
I told my friend if I could just fast-forward to even just March 1, I will be in a better place. And now I have to end this because the garage door just went up signalling that Mr. Manic is home so I have to go play Nice Wife.
updated: It's 8:43 p.m. Mr. Manic came home with a tin of Garrett's cheese/caramel mixed popcorn. I ate half the can. This made me EXTREMELY HAPPY THE MINUTE I STARTED CHEWING. I am an emotional eater. AND, I am sure I am getting my period for the third time in like 42 days. NOT GOOD.
NOW, it's THE END.