Crabby

Lately, I’ve noticed a lot of crabby people grouching and complaining all around me. If I go on the Internet, message boards seem to be having a massive PMS-a-thon – males included. When I read the news, Democrats are telling Republicans to chill, and Republicans are telling them to get a grip. Palestine and Israel are engaged in a deadly game of "did so/did not" while the lives  hang in the balance. On smaller scale, the cashier at the grocery store sneered at me yesterday when I asked where I could find charcoal briquettes for my grill. “Hmpf. I wish I had time off to grill.” What do I say to that? I’m sorry? Even the rats on my patio are crabby. They dragged their rat bait condos into my walking path and flipped me the bird last night. 

I really don’t know how to change the mood. While so many people are feeling sensitive, I have instead become apathetic. Normally, I’m all for a round of good times and fun. And I’m eager to debate a point I feel strongly about. Not lately, though. I’ve been in a “I don’t give a crap, and screw you people anyway” mood. That’s hard for me to admit, because I don’t like being Debbie Downer. I’m a woman – we fake things. Orgasms, delight and surprise.

While I am faking smiles and mustering a good attitude in spite of myself, it’s not working. I don’t know if it’s because I’m fed up with all the crabby people, or if I’m just bored.

( I may have embellished a tiny bit for this blog)