It's Fuckin' Friday, Y'all

Imagine that read in Paula Deen's awful nasal-y whine.

That is how I feel today. Trapped in Paula Deen's whiney nasal cavity.

It's a temporary place. I came home from yoga, pissy as hell. Trying not to kick the dog, yell at the kid, or otherwise spread my nasty smear of a mood around.

I think this mood is a culmination of numerous things:

*Dealing with the jackass of a hauler who damaged La Petite Maison (and will probably attempt to get out of paying for what he damaged, even though it is more than reasonable and requires us to go back and do work we already did. Finish work, no less, the stuff that requires attention and time)

*Getting quotes for temporary, furnished housing in Baltimore that come in around THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS A MONTH for a shitty one bedroom apartment

*Previously mentioned unmentionable things that have been ameliorated somewhat in the writing of them but are still causing enough of a stir in my brain to be annoying, like an itch I cannot scratch (and shouldn't even be thinking of scratching. But I digress)

*Car is in the shop for a stupid repair that will cost lots of money, even though it's under warranty.

*The sheer number of things that need to happen in the next three months.

*And the fucking plumbing is jacked up AGAIN.

So. I may go back to bed. Wake up early and start all over again. Except the plumber is coming, and I need to go pick up my car when it's done. And Sicily has batting.

I would like to try to make connections or have some profound insight, but today is just for bitching. Not re-framing, not thinking positive, not looking on the bright side: simple, straight up airing of grievances.  Join me, won't you?

Stupid day.

(Image Theresa Thompson via Flickr)