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being nessasary

a quirky look into being

It’s one of those mornings.  Your bed has only one side, and the floor is covered in a sadistic chef salad sprinkled with thumbtacks, hydrochloric acid, and water pumped directly from the North Atlantic.  You have to be at work early. You are developing a cold sore. Sleet is shooting down from the sky. And to top it all off, the espresso machine at Starbucks is broken.

If you try to fix your mood, say, by driving past the dog park to see poochies frolicking despite the day’s distemper, there are no dogs.  Maybe you go to your tier 2 coffee shop for your latte, and in turn the latte is weak and lacking heat.  At this point, the smile you try to wear (according to Annie, you’re not fully dressed without one – wouldn’t that make the day a true nightmare!?!) is coming untied.  A bird now poops on your windshield, your wipers, instead of doing their job properly, violently smear white goo all over your line of vision.

That’s it.  Curse words. Violent smacks of the steering wheel.   A stubborn committal to being cranky all day is born.

"If anyone needs me, I'll be in the angry dome!"

The awesome thing about being cranky is that you know exactly what you want:  to be cranky.  You do not want anyone to help you, you do not want I know how you feels, you just want to lock yourself in your angry dome where no one can bother you.  You can holler and wave your fists as much as you want there.

Some people may only need the consolation of one good thing to happen, like, getting a coupon at CVS that actually matters.  Others may, in fact, benefit from their quiet, angry sulking – what if they are naturally bubbly in that obnoxious sort of manner – perhaps they’ll get more done at work, and be praised for their chatlessness (this theory makes me sad – I would rather such a chatty person find a place where he/she could be super appreciated, like working with equally chatty and bubbly kindergartners).

In my case, my cranky days are rarely redeemable.  I never get a CVS coupon that has any sort of significance, nor do I get phrase for my silent, smile-free  face. If I work out, I get mad at someone farting on the treadmill next to me.  If I cook, I burn it.  If I read, I am not remotely interested in the characters.  If I write, I get irate about my hesitation to start my cancer story.

This past weekend, my boyfriend met Cranky Nessa.  She is frightening. Unyielding. And at times, hilarious.  I was trying to fall asleep in his Chicago apartment on a Saturday night.  His apartment leaves much to be desired in the world of quiet and comfort.  So as I am tossing and turning all over my fellows bed, he asks if I needed my earplugs.  Cranky says, “NO, they don’t work, they’re too big!”  I roll around some more, sigh loudly, hoping some sort of breathing pattern will coax me to sleep.  Then, I have to use the ladies room – this meant releasing my agitated self into a room of jolly Saturday night folk. This made me more angry – I wanted my boyfriend to build me a bathroom in his closet that minute.  After more rolling around and heavy sighs, I finally was able to drift into a rather restless sleep.

The next morning, I smiled and said, “I was cranky last night.”  The response was a smile, kiss, and a, “Yes you were cranky. Nothing could help you….You just needed a quiet place.”  Smart fella.

It was over.  Happiness could resume it’s place on my pedestal of emotional normalcy.  All thanks to a little sleep and some understanding……..and I can’t complain about the kisses.

Indulge in your cranky, cranksters!!! Everyone has a stormy day here and there!


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