Grumpy Is as Grumpy Does

The problem with weaselling one’s way off boring slow projects on to thrilling fast-paced interesting ones is that suddenly you have a whole lot more work demanding your time. And lovely bad habits are forced to sit in the back seat and shuttup.

My 10am blog publishing seems to be becoming more and more evasive. Bugger.

I started my weekend in one grouchy mood. Fcking world and fking that and screw the universe & its 7pm Friday office-leaving time and overall, should you even glance at me funny-like you’ll get whacked on the bicep. Hard.

Luckily one drive up the William Nicol in a fast-paced car, and some zig zagging did a small wonder for the manic fury bouncing in my veins. Not enough though.

I had vague suspicions of why I was grouchy. And an email from one of the few few people in the world who could ever figure this out, a brother, has shown that he also figured out how my reaction would have been. I wish I had checked my emails during the weekend. It would have saved several friends from some grumpy facial expressioning and harsh words flung in irritation.

Once upon a time, I would have been found myself trying to rid me of this mood through a bottle of zesty red. I did not have the choice this time. And I realised that this mood has never been beaten or numbed by the gods’ vinegar. You just have to wait it out. Preferably not in company.

The worst thing about a grumpy mood is when people try to help you out of it. No one can. It is a game of patience. Mocking you for being grumpy grates the mood. Sad or pitiful head-side-tilted looks tear nails down your mood. Grumpiness multiplies by the amount of guilt you feel for not being grateful for your mates’ care & concern that they are doing their best to apply. And also, in my case, any human touch just about has me close to enraged psychosis. Leaving me far alone, in a corner, in my head, boiling over quietly is all that can be done.

Which never really does make for good dinner party company.

It is almost more polite to excuse oneself from the event, even if the salmon/ oyster wrap starters and pumpkin/ hake risotto mains are too incredible to miss.

Two days of sleep. One bad dvd. One’s team winning the rugby (HA!). And one cheerful movie about the UN & war and black comedic cynicism was what managed to cure me out of it. Well, that and two mud-covered puppies either trying to bite any wobbly bits of me so I’d wake up (Boobs included. OW!) or to sleep on top of me to warm up after their winter swims.

Times when I know I am special & unique: My idea of light Sunday entertainment involves a dvd said to be “award winning Black Comedy” about the Bosnian War, how useless the UN is, it incorporates 5 languages, there are no famous names or faces, and the ending that is so true and so real that one is left stunned, upset, silent and thinking “bluddy horrible humanity”… just as Sunday dusk is setting in.

Watch NO MAN’S LAND.

But it all ended well -the weekend that is - with some pizza and passion fruit & water…mmmm….NO! Make that a DOUBLE passion fruit, I feel like being daring tonight….with a good friend and the gorgeous discovery of an Ozzie mate who has snuck into town after 6 months.