Iím having a difficult time controlling my anger this morning. Little things are setting me off, and I canít help but slam and bang things in my frustration. Alright, perhaps I could help it if I REALLY tried, but my interest to try is very low at this point.
Sometimes, you just canít win. These last few days have been great for my mood. The other day, I felt fabulous, and I elicited compliments from just about everyone I encountered. From the girl at the bagel shop, to coworkers, to a girl in a grocery store, to classmates, I was ON, and they could feel the buzz in the air around them, created by my electricity. Yesterday, I got my crown put in, and it was the first time in the last two years that I did not succumb to an anxiety attack in the dental chair. Two weeks ago, I was crying and quivering like beaten puppy... uncontrollably. Itís just not good for my image, you know?
But yesterday morning, after my right hand stopped shaking violently, I was actually able to relax (as much as you can in a dentistís office), and there were no tears nor were there any episodes of hyperventilation. Whew! Last night I shared a wonderful meal with my father and a good friend of ours who is in town for a few days. Conversation was spirited and energetic, the wine was delicious. It was nice to hang out with Dad for a bit and get some laundry done. I miss my girls. I am constantly dealing with guilt for not spending more time with them. But not just guilt. I miss my cats, and I never feel like I can simply be at home . Iím going to have to figure that one out. My bedroom at my dadís is the only place I feel is MINE. My space, my things, my girls, my books, my clothes, my everything. My journals. All of them. Me. Iím there, in that, among each thing, each memory. Packed in with the boxes stored in all of the closets. Somewhere in there, I officially reside.
Iím feeling pensive. Pondering My Self is something I always seem compelled to do before a certain time of the month. Like I want to write in my personal journal and figure things out. I have these escapist tendencies, and simple things frustrate me to the point of just not wanting to deal. But I will. I do. And Iíll get my time to me, I promise.
In the meantime, I look forward to our Kensington opening tonight at the gallery. I look forward to seeing some old friends and some new friends, among the population of pleasant Kensingtonians. Iím wearing red. A color of power and vibrance. On the backseat of my car is my long black riding crop, lying across a white piece of paper with two perfect red lip prints from a recent blot of my lips. I like the way it looks there, like a secret of something to come, the erotic answer to the bouncing-head Chihuahua.
If I can get through today without snapping at another person who attempts to burden me with unnecessary bullshit, it will be a good day after all. Or, perhaps, I can go get that crop from the backseat of my car and whip some sense into these morons. Ooh, the day I decide I never need to worry about a steady job, the things I will get away with.
So fuck off. Iím going for a little walk to get some Chinese food. It IS the Chinese New Year today, after all, and this Dragon needs to pay her respects to the Monkey.