the danish outpost
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feeling kinda how a girl feels

i'm cranky. really, foully, ragingly cranky. the worst part is, there isn't any real reason.

i can't blame it on PMS. i haven't changed any meds. my blood sugar seems to be okay. i don't have a migraine. noone was mean or rude to me today (unless you count the twits on the road, but that's just par for the course around here).

so why? why am i mad? yeah, that's it. i'm not just cranky. i'm mad. sort of an undirected anger. which, of course, just makes me angrier, because i can't fix it. you have to know what the problem is before you fix it, n'est pas?

maybe it's the jeans. can i blame it on the jeans? they're a little pinchy around my waist.

they're good jeans, really. i picked up two new pairs last week for a song. $10 a pair, on sale at the Gap. i swear, if i had a personal designer, it would be the Gap personified. cheap, cheap, cheap. and they give me good ass, if i do say so myself. actually, i don't have to say it myself. i've been told, by a few others.

so i look good. which means i should feel good, right? apparently not.

gah! you know what i want? i want a houseboy. that would make everything better. i want a tan, slim, buff houseboy, who will do all my chores for me. in the all together. well, not quite - with a small, white, frilly French maid's apron. just enough to conceal and titillate, and the ties could drape just so over his tush.

i've had that dream for a while, really. i imagine sitting at the kitchen table, sipping chai and doing a crossword while HouseBoy cheerfully scrubs the dishes and piles them in the dish rack before drying them off with a lovely linen towel. i dream about sitting at my desk, getting lots of Meaningful Writing done while he dusts the mantel. (okay, so i don't have a mantel. it's a dream.) i picture waking up to a fresh mug of caffeine, being handed a warm towel when i step out of the shower, and having all my bills taken care of.

*grmph* maybe that's why i'm cranky. i hate having all the dross of being an Adult. i don't *want* to clean and balance the checkbook and scrub the kitchen floor. i want to do fun, creative things, at my own pace. i hate being a responsible adult! the kicker is that when i let myself not do the responsible things, i disappoint myself. it's not as if i can stand living in a mess. i like a nice, clean house. i just want it to clean itself.

i've ranted about this before, i know. it just hits me every so often. and i know it's not a unique issue; i don't know *anyone* who likes being an adult. i think we'd all rather have the road paved smooth for us. i really should just stop kvetching.

*hang on a sec* ah. just changed. feel much better. maybe it was the jeans.

yesterday :: tomorrow

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