Honest to pete, you really can't satisfy some people. I'm about to emerge from the bad mood, I hope. I'm trying to slough it off because it's so tarsome** and if I was someone else--someone other than the person experiencing this mood--I would be ready to drop-kick me to hell. Okay, I am ready to drop-kick myself anyway. Eh, maybe I'll just go for some low-grade mockery.
I don't like crowds. But I feel bad about missing a writers' conference which is . . . full of crowds.
I want to learn more about promotion and other important tools of the trade (see conference). But the more I learn about it, the less I want to do it.
I don't particularly like surprises. But I'm resentful because I know I'm not getting one on my birthday.
I think birthdays are for little kids and once you hit 25 or so, you really should back off on the whole It's About Me thing. Or maybe it's once you hit 12. Depends on my mood. BUT see the thing immediately above that last sentence.
I want people to call me up and ask me to go out. I hate the phone and rarely answer it.
I think we can and should blame most of my snarling attitude on my back, which hurts. It keeps waking me up and making me take Advils. I don't know if the back is the reason the rest is amplified, but who cares?
Because the rest is rising up from some conflicting emotions that are as trivial as a game of Monopoly. But my life is as trivial as a game Monopoly. And whose fault is that? who is the person who refuses to invest time and energy in more?
See what we have to put up with?
I whined at other people about the
self-pity monster, which is a small force for teeny evil. I am currently housing this creature and
wish I could deposit it somewhere else, along with the back pain. Any
volunteers? Anyone want to feel resentful and unappreciated? Anyone? I
suspect the self-pity monster has small yellow hamster-teeth and beady eyes and bad
digestion and a ratty coat that is all wrong for whatever season we're
experiencing. It's small and petty and buries everything it owns in shit.
No one offered to adopt my monster. Some friends you are.
**literary allusion. E.F. Benson's Georgie