I’ve recently become aware of the fact that I am not entirely pleasant to be around these days. I am normally one of those incredibly irritating optimistic, silly, okay-with-just-about-everything people. Yeah, I kinda make myself sick, too. But these days? Holy shitballs I am insane. I’ve officially reached the ungainly, awkward, cramped up, back-splitting, waddle-stomping, sleepless, no appetite, make it your own damn self, I hate you why don’t you love me anymore phase of pregnancy. In addition, I’ve been running a fever for about 26 days now and it’s surprising just how much that will piss a person off.
Because of all of the above, I have zero energy and can only stand for a few minutes before something splits, squirts, or bursts into flames. But at the same time, I am intensely preoccupied with obsessing about all the shit I need to get done – cooking, cleaning, home repairs, gardening, detoxing, haircuts, exercise, painting, etc. etc. etc. Normally, it is delightful when the mildly OCD hit the euphemistically-named “nesting” stage. That is when I shine with the righteous glow of the mythological cleaning Vikings.
But this time? No such luck. I just sit and glower and fume because I can’t fucking finish caulking shit. It’s almost a relief when I get the fever delirium and start weeping about how much I love Walter from Fringe.
In the interim, I keep myself entertained by arguing with anyone, anytime, anywhere, about pretty much anything, even and especially things about which I know nothing and care even less.
For example, last night when I crankily informed my husband that he’d better have a freaking unique guitar solo on a song he’s been working on or it will sound like a drunken pub sing-along. As if (a) I know what the fuck I am talking about, (b) my husband doesn’t know his way around a song or a recording studio, and (c) I have any opinion about his songs other than AWESOME and ‘hey man is that freedom rock? well turn it up!’ I mean sure, there are some songs I like more than others, but geez. And yeah, I have opinions about the stuff we do and what sounds better, etc. but I’m really just skank wrangler and sammich support when it comes to his real band stuff.
To his immense credit, he waited at least an hour before he started teasing me about getting all Phil Spector on his ass. I’m a lucky woman.
So it’s probably a good thing that I’ve pretty much been keeping close to home and to myself. People of my real life, consider yourselves lucky. And if you happen to see me out and about, run. Or, better yet, toss the last disc of Season Two Fringe and a box of hot pad thai at me and slowly back away.