So, I woke up this morning feeling crappy. Not sick, not in much pain save for the aching of my shoulder which I slept on funny. Just tired, I guess. Bit of a headache. Probably dehydrated a tad. Sour disposition. Nothing positive to say. Dragged myself "to work" which is the next room as I work from home) sans shower cause I couldn't be bothered today. Everything is getting on my nerves within the first minute of dealing with it. Probably not very good company, though fortunately I'm alone, save for you gentle readers who fortunately don't have to experience any of that first hand. Allow me to apologize half-heartedly ahead of time if my bad mood rubs off.
Posting a blog entry was sort of low on my list of things I wanna do right now, but it's been a while and I decided "What better time to post a blog entry than when I really don't want to? It's bound to be loaded with honesty and disregard for anything that doesn't involve coffee." Don't expect any words of wisdom here, or kind advice. There'll be no mirth making, no anecdotes, no wistful reminiscence, and especially no pictures. Those take entirely too much energy for me today. There probably won't be any links either.
My patience is thin today. I have a very low tolerance for BS to start with, but today it's non existent. I'm getting irritated by the fact that I can't spell and Google chrome is throwing red squiggly lines under just about every word. I know it's just trying to help, and I'm shooting the messenger here... but I don't think what I need right now is another source letting me know something I did is wrong. Perhaps it's not logical, and in a few hours (or days) I might feel a little abashed for scowling at my web browser for doing something it was asked to do, i.e. spell check for me... but right now, I feel completely justified.
There... Red squigglies gone (except beneath "squigglies" which is evidentially not a word...)
I'm not pleased with the temperature of my coffee. When the room gets to 80°F it's considered hot. Yet, coffee at room temperature is considered cold. Coffee with ice in it is SO cold that it's called something entirely different. It requires a classification unto itself called "Iced". Mine is currently Luke-warm. Who is this Luke guy anyway? I'll have to look that up later, I can't be bothered to move my mouse right now, as my arms are settled into their "at the keyboard" formation.
I'm listening to Pandora, which is an online music thing. You sign up and put in a song name or band name, or even genre, and it creates a custom "radio" station that places music that coincided with whatever you put in. You can add content, you can give a song "thumbs down" if you don't like it and they'll never play it again, or you give it a "thumbs up" and they'll make sure to play it again at some point. Sometimes they'll throw in something from way out there, and you wonder what in the hell you added to your station that would make anyone with half a clue add it... For instance, one of my stations is "Classic Rock". Led Zep, Pink Floyd, Queen, Bad company, etc... 60s and 70s stuff. Well, I just had to "thumbs down" a rap song. I think someone at Pandora heard I was grumpy and decided to screw with me. After all, it's perfectly rational to figure that some million dollar company would hire someone to take the time to piss me off for no practical reason.
(quick break to de-squigglieify my text...)
All my minor inconveniences are big irritants right now. I have a fingernail that tore off just a little to far, and it's sore. You might think I stuck it into the end of a magnum 44 all Tom and Jerry style, the way it's bothering me right now.
Eventually, I know I'm going to have to get up and use the facilities, and that's making me grumpy because I don't want to. It's like nature's way of reminding you that you're not really in complete control, and you're still a puppet on her strings. Sooner or later, you're going to do it. The only thing you can control is where it's done.
Ok, I think I've pissed and moaned enough here to consider it a a blog entry of decent length, so I'm going to give you a chance to complain as well. I know I'm not the only one who gets into these funks from time to time, although I try not to call it a Funk, cause it just sorta takes something away from it. Such a silly word.
What raises your ire irrationally when you're just not in the mood for Bullsh*t?