The only thing that kept me away from that barstool tonight was the chance to sit at M.’s house and vent and vent and vent to her about every single thing that has irritated or frustrated me over the past 48 hours — which, it goes without saying, is a heck of a lot. That woman either has the patience of a saint or now realizes I’m a lot more fucked up than she previously thought. Sigh.
I don’t know if it’s the continued medication side effects or the changing weather or my massive work overload or not getting to a meeting today or having to wear my contacts since Sunday (when B. bent my glasses out of shape) or the fact that W. is seriously making me reconsider my position against capital punishment for ten-year-olds, but I have been in a foul, foul mood all day. If I were a serial killer in the making, this is the day I’d be out torturing squirrels, and if I were any less sober, I’d be at the Hopleaf right now drinking at least my sixth Jever of the evening.