I am annoyed.
I’ve been trying to figure out why. Nothing’s wrong. I’m not upset at anyone or anything. It’s not shark week. I’m not in the midst of a horrendous natural disaster. All my clothes fit. I just bought a few new pairs of killer heels. My dog is freshly bathed and doesn’t smell like an asshole.
All these things should point to a perfectly content existence. But everything is grating on my last nerves. I feel like I’m taking every little comment personally (What? You like my new hair color? So you’re saying my old one made me look fat?). And it’s making me bat shit crazy because I can’t explain any of it. What’s the matter? Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m just a blubbering sobbing fool who is pouty and crabby and nasty. And I repeat: it is NOT shark week. PMS is at least a few weeks off, so relax.
I walked into work this morning with aforementioned chip on my shoulder and decided to confide in my coworkers about it.
“It’s the weather,” Stacey said. “Everyone’s got cabin fever. It’s awful.”
It was like someone lit a fire of knowledge under my ass and watched me dance around with pure glee and realization.
IT’S THE WEATHER.
It’s the last week of March and we’re still wearing winter coats, watching our breath make sick little fucking clouds in the air, and slipping on 3 week old ice. This time last year I was wearing shorts. No wonder I’m in a funk.
So now that I’ve come to this wonderful conclusion, I’d like to extend an apology to anyone I was a huge weird confusing bitch to this weekend. (Dear AJ – I owe you a cookie. Scratch that – I owe you a whole fucking batch of cookies. And probably a tub of frosting. And a bottle (or five) of wine.)
With my newfound hope that I’m not crazy successfully re-instated, I bid you all a happy Monday. Only 4 more work days till we get to see Friday’s beautiful face again. Not that I’m counting or anything.
I’m counting. In case you didn’t get that.
Oh, and this: