As the weeks dwindle down and I become increasingly uncomfortable, my already-challenged patience is being poked and irked in ways I never thought imaginable.
I know that lack of sleep is the main reason. It was really bad for a while but started getting better, and I was silly enough to think I was "out of the woods." I seem to be backsliding. I can't get comfortable and rolling over is a chore. If The Oracle awakens in the middle of the night, the kids start coughing, or the dog barks at something, I'm awake too. The difference, of course, is that he's asleep in a moment or two, but I lay (lie?) there staring at the insides of my eyelids for at least forty minutes before I drift off again. (Lay? Lie? help me, please, grammar gurus!)
I've mentioned before that I've become irritable and crabby, and my "fuse" is only 1/2 inch long these days. It takes very little to set me off, and I am constantly questioning my judgment in when it comes to the kids and their behavior. If it weren't for The Oracle and his willingness to answer my pleas for guidance ("am I being unreasonable?") I'd probably be in trouble with Human Services.
In addition to all that, I am now annoyed by things that have always been present but never bothered me before, like the sound of Knucklehead's claws on the flooring as she paces about - chik-chik-chik-chik - especially when it's before sunrise. Punctuating my irritation with the chik-chik-chik sound is the whuffffffff of foul dog breath blown into my face in her quest to be let outside.
Let's consider for a moment that, on weekdays, The Oracle has been up and about for a good twenty minutes, but she rarely bothers him to be let out any time during the day unless I am not at home. In the morning, she only decides that she wants to go outside the moment The Oracle undresses for the shower. She does this just about every morning, I kid you not. She'll snore on the sofa until he's indisposed, and then she has to pee. Chik-chik-chik-chik-chik-whufffff. If I "play possum" and don't respond, I am jabbed by her nose and another persistent - and frequently boogery -whuff.
On the weekend, I've taken to closing the door between the living room and hallway after her 6:00 a.m. pee break, because the moment I've gotten out of bed to let her out (even though I've crawled back in) I am fair game, and she starts pacing and huffing for breakfast which normally doesn't land in her bowl for almost another two hours.
Recyclables - Yep, recyclables annoy me. Our recycle bins are outside on the back porch. It's cold, so I don't open the door and pitch every one into the bin as it's emptied because the door would never be shut. We go through a shameful amount of plastic, so I accumulate a few before chucking 'em into the bin. Normally this works well, but my mega-sized middle now bumps everything in sight or my rear-end bumps what's behind me as I continue to try squeezing through spaces that no longer fit. The first thing to fall is -- you guessed it -- bouncy plastic bottles.
Bathing cats - Our cats are twelve years old. For twelve years they've slept on our bed and washed themselves, and for twelve years this wasn't even a blip on the radar. Peake sleeps near my feet and bathes for what seems like half the night. The sound of "Thhp-thhp-thhp-thhp-thhp-thhp" paired with the ever-so-slight rocking of the bed by the rhythmic motions of his neck leaves me fit to be tied. In my state of hypersensitivity, it feels like The Oracle is shaking me by the shoulders into wakefulness. I am trying very hard not to evict the old man (the cat, not The Oracle), but the temptation is damned near overwhelming.
When Peake finally finishes his bath, he hops off the bed and I sigh with relief until he visits the crunchies for a midnight snack. He often has this nasty habit of glutting himself until he vomits, and as I hear him crunching at the bowl and lapping at the water, my ear is tuned for the telltale heec-heec-heec of a cat about to yark up soggy, barely-chewed kibble.
Then, of course, I'm still getting on my own nerves. Most days I just don't like being inside my own skin (clearly, today is another one). I am annoyed by the things that I can't do easily, like bend over for extended periods (or bend at all on a full stomach), haul the laundry up and down the stairs, squeeze through small spaces, or sit with the kids on my lap. Seat belts just about give me fits with the way they're sliding up to my neck. I should be thankful that I can't eat a full-sized meal, but I get annoyed when I'm hungry again a short while later.
I wake up bitchy and I go to bed bitchy after spending a good bit of the day snarling at everyone. At the gas station the other day, I rather loudly complained about some guy blocking two pumps with one car. On two or three occasions I've chased people with way more than 15 items out of the express line at the supermarket. I normally don't do that sort of thing.
I don't get it. I wasn't like this with the first two. Well, maybe I was and The Oracle had the good sense to keep that to himself, but even then I don't think I was this bad. I know I can't put up with it much longer.
It surprises me when I realize there are people who go through life being snarky and miserable. Thank God this is only temporary.
Twelve Days of Boots: Day 6! by The Pioneer Woman
16 hours ago