I've kind of been out of sorts the last few days, and for no reason that I can discern. I got up on the wrong side of the bed, so to speak, whatever that means. If I got up on the wrong side of my bed it would entail crawling over the still sleeping SuperK, which would be unwise on my part. If I got up on the wrong side of the bed I'd have claw marks on me today and would definitely have something to be out of sorts about. Claw marks, bite marks, and other open wounds mess with my serenity.
I never cease being surprised at how uncomfortable it makes me to feel at all uncomfortable. I prepare myself for feeling uncomfortable with all kinds of coping techniques and then when it happens again, as it inevitably does, I feel like yelling: well, let's say I feel like yelling a very bad word. Suffice it to say it's a very bad word.
I feel a little better already. No, no, wait, that's the coffee kicking in.
Then I spring into action. I try to figure out why I'm feeling bad and what I can do to stop feeling bad and -- this is a very important -- who to blame for feeling bad. It never occurs to me to assume that sometimes people just don't feel that great and that it isn't going to last forever.
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