06 August 2007

I stay away

The last week or so, I have been in a terrible mood. And it must be noted that "terrible" here doesn't mean "generally cranky," it means "fearsome, forbidding, dark."

I can put some of it down to hormones. I can put some of it down to a summer that hasn't worked out quite the way I planned, and to projects that have been started but not finished. I can put some of it down to general exhaustion. Some belongs to the dishwasher just up and dying.

The news has not helped. I try to avoid the news when possible, but the bridge collapse in Minnesota was not avoidable. I worked in the disaster biz long enough to see how it all plays out, and watching the woman officer wade through a stew of human effluvium and toxic waste in an effort to find people in cars hours after this happened, with no protective gear and little more than a playground jump rope tethering her to safety, was nearly enough to make me jump out of my skin.

And the families killing each other and then killing themselves. Then the two who died hiking at Seven Falls this weekend: accidents happen, but don't you people understand the meaning of "flash flood?" Off the top of my head, I can count three people that I knew who died in flash floods, but do people never EVER grow the wiser?

The company picnic this weekend, and dealing with parts of my recent past. Lunch with the in-laws, which would have been fine if it had just been the in-laws and not the MIL's sister and her husband. I loathe that man, a tiny puffed-up bantam, a man of no consequence. Usually I can ignore him, no eye contact, no words, but this weekend, I was all teeth and claws. I don't like it when I turn vicious and rabid, even more so when there is no satisfaction, no worthy adversary.

Shopping for back-to-school shoes afterward. The son always fusses; he doesn't like shopping. Nor do I. They are growing, and the daughter is hard to fit, with wide feet and narrow heels. A pair of sneakers and a pair of dress shoes each. The daughter now wears a women's size 7 shoe, and finding appropriate dress shoes for a 10-year-old in the women's department is no easy feat. Finally, I locate a pair of black loafers, which I hand to her, saying with understanding, "I know they're hideous, but see if they at least fit." She pronounces them perfect; she loves them.

She loves them? They are about the ugliest shoes I've ever seen.

She loves them, and please, Mommy, can I have them?

They fit and she's happy with them; they will probably look great with her uniform skirt. I wouldn't be caught dead in them, but I wouldn't normally be caught dead in the Brooks Addiction Walkers that I am sentenced to full time, with $400 custom orthotics!, either, if I didn't have to wear them all the damn time.

Perhaps I am a little jealous that there are no cute shoes in my immediate future.

Two hundred dollars and five pairs of shoes later, we leave the shoe store.

My mood has not lightened; while the guy who came to service the a/c did not try to upsell me this time, he spent 2 hours chasing me around my house, talking at me about pressures and freon, and why I have a maintenance agreement. Right when I'm trying to deal with the daughter who decided to projectile vomit all over the faculty restroom during cheer camp. At a time when I am preparing to fly to Denver. I don't want to think of her with heat exhaustion, but I'd really rather it not be say...Norovirus. Not this week.

There are rats at Angels Stadium. It's all over the news. For whatever reason, this is the bright spot of my day.

Go listen to some good music: "I Stay Away" from the album Jar of Flies by Alice in Chains.