Bitch Fret

I am an angry and cranky bitch ALL THE DAMN TIME. And sometimes, I can’t hide my inner shrew and her voice bursts through – which angers others, making me even bitchier in response to their anger at me.  I’m trapped in a closed loop of Grr….

I’d like a vacation from myself but since I’m stuck with me wherever I go, getting away from my family, who are – individually and collectively – on my last nerve, for a couple of days would be a close second. I’m told that absence makes the heart grow fonder. I’m willing to research this adage… in the interest of science of course.

I am annoyed that the civil engineers made a minor error that will delay securing a grading permit for our property, which was supposed to happen today, Tuesday. What is it with Tuesdays going south on me of late? 

Grr… imagine the sound of a really annoyed, loud Chihuahua in a pit bull’s body.  That is the furor of the raging, inner bitch that echoes in my ears.

I know I am blessed to have healthy children, a loving spouse and enough property to level, but this knowledge only makes me more angry and hostile at myself – for being such a malcontent when I am so darn lucky.

My descent into irrational ire (at least this current spiral) started two Tuesdays ago when I had to miss my workout with the amazing David Siik, and instead spent the day at an Emergency Room with my husband who was in excruciating pain. Thankfully, life-threatening ailments were ruled out quickly and he got some pain relief. I know I should be thankful that we have access to great doctors and the insurance to avail ourselves of their expertise. And intellectually, I am grateful but inside I was crabby as I advocated and assisted my spouse wishing all the while that I was working on my ‘to do’ list for the day. 

Later in the week – after I’d worked on pre-approvals for insurance companies and begged for appointments for my husband – we found out that two herniated disks in his neck were the source of his agony.

God seems to laugh at my plans of late, especially on Tuesdays.

“I know I’m making more work for you,” my husband said as part of a sweet and loving ‘thank you’ for my doing double duty while his pain left him incapacitated.  His kindness tamed the wench within… a bit.  I continued to do the right thing because it’s required, regardless of the mercurial nature of the heart – and that ungrateful lunatic who lives within it. 

But then, the bitch was back in full force – at the start of a new week she and I were at Costco, the Mecca of oversized gluttony with my Chevy Malibu— but without the endorphin rush of a Siik workout— at 9:50am Monday waiting for the warehouse to open at 10:00am.  How did I get here? When did I become this bargain-loving, frumpy, lumpy housefrau? I was exhausted by the effort it took to contain my raging inner she-monster as I lugged insanely large items to and from my cart.


And I don’t think I can blame hormones – but heaven forbid I should be able to get a return call from my awesome gynecologist to confirm this.  Did he retire without telling me? 

Why am I such a whiney, privileged mess?  I DON’T KNOW… which only enrages me further. I hit the laptop keys to spell I DON’T KNOW with such force that the spinning ball of doom had me waiting a full minute before I could type out this sentence.

But wait, there is more… could it be the raison d’être of my wench-ness?

As of midnight, I will be AARP eligible.  Yes, it’s my Big 5-0, which I don’t want to acknowledge with anything more than the cake I ordered for dessert tomorrow (more on my controlling, ceremonially-challenged ways next week).

And, it’s a Tuesday so who knows how that cake and plan will turn out.

I hope I’m less crazed when I’m 50 and a day. But I wouldn’t count on it.

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