Maybe I should start graphing my mood swings and irrational behaviors. Surely a pattern would emerge, and that would help my poor, unsuspecting, trying-too-hard-to-be-nice-to-the-shrewish-me husband. See that, right there? Even in identifying him as a sweet guy, I am irritated at his kindness. There is something clearly wrong with that. He comes to rub my neck and I complain about a canker sore on my lip. He opens the trunk on the car for me and I grumble that he's doing it wrong. He chuckles about a post that I read to him because I thought it was funny, and suddenly I'm mad that he's trying to steal my friends. And I can't find the blog that made me laugh so I can provide a link for you, and am now extra grouchy.
I like to think the good news is that crazy people don't really consider themselves crazy, right? And I can definitely see the crazy here, I just can't beat it to death. Medication seems extreme, and I am not at all judging anyone choosing that route; I am just myself a big fat baby. I don't like to take anything even for headaches and not because I'm a martyr (shut up). It goes back to that control thing I have going on. A dermatologist prescribed some drugs for me last year that gave the pharmacist pause when I picked them up. Apparently they were a strong dosage for high blood pressure, and here I am with a tendency toward low blood pressure already. The pharmacist asserted that I should only take them at bedtime. I am a rule follower but even so, the barely making it out of the bathroom before collapsing onto our bed was a little alarming. I'll keep the acne, thanks.
I worry that my children are going to be affected by this loony side of me, which gives me guilt, which I hate because frankly it's a time-waster. So I'm back to angry. I'm trying to stay away from people I love, so don't be offended if you are one of them. It's for your own good. Pretend I have tuberculosis. (But it will be cured before I travel out of the country, I promise).