Buzz Killington

Dear taxes,

Tonight is the night. Prepare to be done.

Wow. That sounds terrible.

So, I went out dancing with a couple of my lady friends Friday night. It was pretty much awesome. I am still a little concerned because I drank my beers faster than my girls and was much less buzzed than they were.

I started thinking maybe I wasn’t as much of a lightweight as I thought. I was wrong.  But that's a story from another night for another time.

I think it was the fact that we were drinking Coronas and dancing, so I was sweating it out pretty much as fast as I could drink it.

I know. I am so sexy. It must be completely unbearable for everyone around me.

The thing was, we were just there to dance and have a good time. Unlike pretty much everyone else in the bar, we were not there with even the slightest intention of getting laid. I also don’t think I saw a single guy there I would want grinding up against me and assaulting my personal space with his denim boner. I love it when people buy me drinks. I hate it when they think that means they can invade my personal bubble with their sticky little fingers.

That sounded bad, too. I’m on a roll.

So, I was up on the stage with my girlfriends. Enjoying myself and not getting slammed by some strange skeezoid’s ba-cock (that’s the best thing about not dancing in the middle of the crowd). And a middle aged woman wanders up to the edge of the stage and gets my attention, since I’m the closest to the front corner.

She then proceeds to tell me this, “You girls need to get down from there right now.”

And I thought, “Who the fuck are you? You are definitely not the owner of this ‘fine’ establishment…”

She continued, “You’re being disgusting and a lot of people have been saying things. You’re really embarrassing yourselves.”

Then she walked away. Leaving me to wonder what the hell we did that was so horrible.

Kind of.

I mean, I can think of some things we did that may not have been the epitome of tact or couth (and were far from lady-like), but there were other people doing much, much worse than we were. Like the two girls that came up on the stage to dance around a stool and make out with each other.

This place puts up stripper poles, for God’s sake.

If you can’t handle Friday nights in a place where they encourage pole dances, please, for the love of God, stay home.

Then the DJ of Awesomeness (as my friend calls him) asked if we knew her and told us just to ignore her and have a good time.

Which is exactly what we had been doing. Before that stupid bitch interfered.

Having fun and getting free drinks.

I think her problem was really that the man she started dancing with after she said her piece to us was blatantly staring at us and ignoring her.

It’s annoying when you have a night full of fun and positive feedback, and all that pleasure and enjoyment is killed by one hater.

I'm not sure exactly what the moral of this story should be.

I think it's: Don't get drunk and be a dick.

It could also be: Have fun and don't worry about it, regardless of your age. Or it could be: Don't be so uptight, you're killing my buzz and my good time.

Mostly, I think it's just the one about not being a dick. I get all A.D.D. bitchy when you piss me off like that. Obviously.

Just a thought, I'm glad we don't call people "clits" like we call them  "dicks."  That would be horrible.  I hope that's a trend that never starts.  Or, if in the future people feel compelled to call each other "clits" for some reason, it is not used in a derogatory way.  I hope it means something awesome.  

I should probably stop there.

Yeah.

Oh, by the way, I never did my taxes. I cleaned my car instead.

Kinda.

Back to self.

Sometimes I feel as if I am fairly normal (let’s face it, I will never be completely normal).  But sometimes I look at myself and think there is no way I cannot be completely insane.

I am an erratic, impulsive, social butterfly-homebody who likes to plan blocks of time out in her day and is resistant to change. 

That is as close as I can come to defining myself.

To a certain degree, I am unpredictable.

I had a conversation with a friend of mine about this recently and he asked if I liked that about myself.  I’d never considered that before. 

I think I do.

I like other people who I can’t predict, so why wouldn’t I like myself that way?

The problem is that I cannot tell you how I will feel about something from one day to the next, or worse, one week/month to the next.  One day I will hate a piece of jewelry, the next it will be my favorite.  One day I wear sweat pants to the mall, the next I wear super-heels to the grocery store. 

One day I will love spending time with someone, the next they will bug the crap out of me.  That doesn’t mean I like them less as a person.  It just means I need a lot of variety.  Too much of one thing bores me.

Therefore, I need to be with someone as diverse as I am.  Someone who likes being involved in everything, someone erratic, impulsive, and a little bit offensive. 

For some reason I like that.  I like it when people are truly themselves and say what they think instead of hiding it and donning some sensitive persona. 

I need someone who will play with my hair while watching The Hangover.  Someone who will give me a back massage and try to cop a feel while doing it.  Someone who knows I am sensitive, will tell me what to do, but knows it would be disastrous if they were to ever try to control me.

Is that so much to ask?

I don’t think so. 

I feel the need to explain something else.  Just for shits and giggles, I guess.

I started this blog because I like to write.  Writing is the only way I can get my feelings and ideas out of my head so that I can more easily deal with them.  When I stopped writing, I was a huge mess.  Not that I’m not a mess now; I am.  But in an “organized chaos” kind of way, as opposed to a “hiding in the closet while sobbing” kind of way.

Very frequently, I find that once I get all those feelings out, I am not so affected by them.  Or they no longer bother me at all.

I considered deleting the post I did yesterday more than briefly as a result of this purging clarity.  I still wonder if maybe I should, but I won’t for honesty’s sake.  I got all my feelings out and on the table, and now it all seems so silly.  I cleared my heart and mind, today is a new day, and I don’t feel this way anymore.

Maybe part of it was the rain.  Or the lack of sleep I’ve been dealing with for weeks.  Or the fact that I’m trying so hard not to catch the cold I feel coming on. 

I would say I wish I had waited until today to post, instead of writing yesterday.  But if I hadn’t written what I did yesterday, I wouldn’t feel so clear today.  Which is a big part of the reason I write.  And if I hadn’t posted it, I wouldn’t be true to myself or anyone who happens to read what I write.  I don’t post things because I want pity or congratulations; I do it for myself and possibly to entertain others.  I like the idea of letting people know they are not the only ones who feel a certain way.  Human beings are all connected by the lives we touch and the feelings we have.

Guess I’m back to my hippie self.

Oh, and by the way, I’m still an attention whore.  Just because I don’t feel that way specifically doesn’t mean I don’t still want everyone to pay attention to me. 

That, my friends, will never change.

Days like today, I feel it.

I tried.

I tried so hard to go along with it.  Despite knowing that I can’t operate like that.  I tried and I just can’t do it. 

I’m not going to say I failed, because I don’t feel like I am failing at anything.  And believe me, I know failing.   There’s not that sense of deadness I get in the pit of my stomach when I know I’m failing. 

I just can’t do this.

I can’t not have emotions.

Maybe it’s me.

Maybe the fact that I’m cool with talking about a guy’s sac and ballsweat, the fact that I love physical intimacy, and the facts that I like to drive fast and want to shoot zombies with a bazooka or crossbow (I'm not choosy) make me seem too much like a guy.   Maybe my crass humor and love of  this causes people to think I can just have a physical fling and get over it the next day.

I can’t.

Once again I will say I am not that girl.

I was born the youngest and grew up the only girl in my family.  I am a princess.  I expect my wants and needs to be attended to.  But I at least try to be a considerate monarch and will try to attend to the wants and needs of others as often as I am able.  I just really require a certain amount of attention.  I crave and need it on a pretty much daily basis.

Not the “you are so beautiful” kind of attention.  Not constantly, at least.  Though, once in a while is pretty nice.

I need the kind of attention in which someone talks to me.  Tells me about their day and asks about mine.  Answers my texts or emails.  Shares their life with me.  Communicates about anything at all.

I like to have these things in every relationship I have.  Friendship and otherwise.  I guess I feel closer to people when I am communicating a lot with them, and since a lot of my friends live far away from me now, it has become even more important to me that we communicate.  This year, I’ve even been working harder to be better at it.

In relationships, I have a lot of problems. 

Like the fact that I don’t want one. 

But by “I don’t want one,” I really mean “I don’t want something to be defined as a relationship.”  Other than friendship.  By me, at least.  I want everything else.  I like the safety and trust of monogamy.  I like feeling truly connected to another human being.  I like cuddling.

But the term “relationship” makes me feel trapped.  For now, at least.

I guess I don’t want to be your girlfriend, I just want to monopolize all of your time and be the only one you fuck around with. 

See?  Princess.

The whole attention thing is a really big part of why I can’t do one-night stands.  I need to feel loved and/or cared for.  I need to feel safe.  Because, with all my phobias and anxiety, I know I am never safe.  From anything.  Ever.

When I don’t feel the safety, it’s admittedly exciting.  At first.  Then it just becomes incredibly frustrating.  I like a little danger.  Not constant, crippling fear.*

I’m also (unfortunately) kind of accustomed to guys who are attracted to me falling for me pretty quickly.  So, when it doesn’t happen I start to freak out.  Which is awesome.  Ish.

I try to act like it’s cool when someone doesn’t talk to me for, like, a week.  I try to act as if I haven’t thought of things to message them about almost every day because I like to share stories with people.  But after I don’t get a response to, you know, like, one message, I get all frustrated and stop sending them.  As if maybe it will not go unnoticed that I am not constantly blowing up someone’s phone/email with messages about random shit from my daily life.

I wish I could write a guide to dating me.  If someone was attracted to me, they could get a copy of the guide and read it to see if I am someone they really want to pursue.  Basically, how into quirks they are.  If they don’t want to deal with me, they don’t ask me out.  No one gets hurt.  If they can deal with it, they start talking to me. 

This would solve so many problems.  With the added bonus that I could tell who was actually interested in me.  For once. 

Maybe I’ll write a guide.  I'll call it "The Crazy Bitch Guide," because that's how I'm feeling today.  I’ll never use it, but it would make me feel better.  I think.

It’s crazy and windy out today.  I had to lock the office doors so they would stop blowing open.  I almost couldn’t open the gate because I had to push against the wind.  It’s straight-up INSANITY outside.  Which means I just want to be home on my couch with a fire, a cozy blanket, and a good book.  Or a cuddle buddy.  That sounds excellent.  Though, we should definitely keep listening to the playlist I currently have on with all the Radiohead in it.  Radiohead is perfect for days like today.

Cuddle Buddy, come take a nap with me. 

Whoever and wherever you are.

*Had to note that as soon as I wrote that sentence, “Too Afraid to Love You” by The Black Keys came on my iPod.  Which is on shuffle.  As well as extremely and unnervingly intuitive. 

Grammar Snob

I recently started realizing something that really bugs me that I haven’t previously given a lot of thought to. 

Grammatical errors…  Or just plain grammatical weirdness.

I don’t care if you start a sentence with a conjunction.  I do it all the time.  In every non-scholastic thing I’ve ever written.  If I didn’t constantly use fragments and conjunctions, you probably would have no idea the voice in my head is so A.D.D.  Maybe.

Squirrel.

Let's be realistic.  I've always known I like things to be fairly grammatically correct.  I like wording not to sound awkward, I like my punctuation to be mostly right, and I like my tenses to match up.  Mostly, I don't like to be tripped up while reading.

However, the problem I noticed I'm having is with severe grammar problems in pop culture.  I like it when I start listening to the lyrics of a song and don't end up with my head cocked slightly to the left like my dog when I start growling at him (not that I do that) and thinking "what the fuck did they just say?"

I don’t really even care how many times you say “baby” or “yeah” in a song.  Given that it’s within reason.  And not sung by anyone with Bieber anywhere in their name.

I have a problem with this.

I actually really like this song.  But the first phrase kills me.  To the point where I change the words when I sing along.

In case you haven’t caught on already, let me explain.  He says, “It kills me not to know this, but I’ve all but just forgotten” (fine so far) “what the color of her eyes were, and her scars or how she got them.” 

Wait…  What? 

No.

Just.  No.

The problem is that he is referring to the color of her eyes (singular—in most cases, at least), not the eyes themselves (plural).  So the first time I started to sing along with the song, I automatically sang the lyrics in a grammatically correct manner: “what the color of her eyes was.”  Then I realized I had sung the wrong words, backed up the song, and listened to it again to make sure.  Now I sing the wrong lyrics on purpose.  I am just that OCD, I guess. 

Scary, right?

I couldn’t care less where I went to for dinner Saturday night, but it bugs the crap out of me when a lyric in a fucking rock song is grammatically incorrect.  

Well, I’m scared.

I also can't remember what I had for dinner Saturday night.  

That can't be good.

In other news, I bought new the other day.  Bad choice.  Weirdest pants ever.

They are currently in ending hour five of their rape-a-thon. 

I carry all my weight in the middle of my body.  So I have little knees, calves, and ankles.  Pretty petite shoulders.  Fairly large chest.  Smallish waist.  But between my belly button and mid-thigh, there is a little more squish than I would probably have if given a choice.  The fact that I work a desk job 40 hours a week doesn’t exactly help the junk in my trunk. 

The weirdest thing about these jeans is that they pretty much fit my ass, but are tight in the thighs.  Then fit perfectly from the knee down.  They are evil imprisoned in a denim-y hell.

I take that back.

I am imprisoned in their evil, denim-y hell.

Fuck jeans.

I’m only wearing sweatpants or leggings from now on.

Maybe.

Where's my gold?

St. Patrick’s Day.  

Oh, yeah.  That’s today.  I almost forgot.  *Rolls eyes dramatically*

Good thing I’m wearing my leprechaun hat.  It has a buckle.  And sequins.  Like if a leprechaun and a porn star had a baby, the baby would come out sporting this hat.  And maybe a gold grill.  ‘Cause I could see this golddigging whore of a baby being tacky like that.  Hey, maybe Goldmember was part leprechaun…

Anway…

I’ve never been out on St. Patty’s Day.  I’ve never had green beer.  I have class till probably nine tonight.  And work bright and early tomorrow.  However, I made an executive decision:

Fuck it.

I’m going out.  But just for ONE drink.  Because I need to drive and, like, you know, keep my job.  Or whatever.

And I’ll be listening to the Irish pub rock station on Pandora for days.  It’s catchy, offensive, and exceptionally delightful.  For the aforementioned reasons.  Earlier, I heard a song about shaving a drunk sailor’s balls with a rusty razor.  Where else can you get that and be as entertained as I was?  Nowhere.

So, if you’re out tonight after nine and looking for green beer, keep an eye open for a girl in a sequined leprechaun hat.  

If you tell me accessories don’t count, I will disagree with you.

And if you pinch my ass, I reserve full rights to punch you in the ba-cock.
 

HAPPY ST. PATRICK’S DAY!

P.S.  My hat is the shit.

Insanity

Some days I feel like I am losing my mind completely.

I wonder if I might really be a crazy person. I’m cracking up.

I am completely irrational. I do things that I know I shouldn’t just because I want to see what will happen.

I feel myself growing more and more restless. I have a need and desire to do something completely stupid. Maybe to run away. From myself. My life. Something.

I feel as if I should be ashamed, but I’m really not. I think maybe I have no shame left. Nearly.

I actually don't feel like I want or need to escape myself. It's the other parts of my life. School, work, some of the people. The distractions that make life what it really is.

I think it's maybe because the planet itself is so fucked up right now. Maybe it's because I finally saw what I expected to see. Maybe gravity feels like it's pushing me so hard right now because I have no faith left. And I'm too tired to try to push back.

Prostrate and numb. It's kind of perfection.

Unfortunately, it doesn't help me decide what to do.

Fuck.

Ooh, I wrote my first poem in months.

I miss the days when I really liked my poetry.  But I'll post it for your benefit anyway, since I know you're curious.

Don't read too much into it. You know who you are. You readers into things.

Cry

my tears like starlight

to the Moon.

In full-orbed forgiveness

she hangs her head

low above me

and the comfort

i usually take

from her bright eyes

and round face

i cannot grasp tonight.

i steel myself away

hiding in a Fortress

of my own devising

built of straw

camouflaged as brick

blown away

in a Puff.

i weep in my hiding place

and lay my heart

gently

on the cool green Earth

to bleed out the Pain

i let myself feel once more.

let the salt of my Tears

heal the wound

i've forged in myself.

So Lentventurous.

I am currently embarking on day six of my Lenten Adventure.  

I must say, I’ve been doing pretty well at staying away from super processed foods.  Except for the hot chocolate I had the other night.  And probably the biscuit thing I had from Red Lobster yesterday.  Which was still not terrible, considering I was given an entire bag of them and only ate one.

For the most part, I think this is sort of a quest for self-fulfillment as well as a healthier lifestyle.  So it’s not so much that I’m giving up processed or fried foods, or even Coke, as it is that I’m trying to adopt better habits

   

With that in mind, my gauge for whether or not I should put something in my mouth or even do something is:  how does my body feel about this?  If I think about something like Cheetos, my body has a conditioned reaction of YAY!  Cheetos!!!  But if I don’t immediately let myself think I want Cheetos, I realize they don’t sound appealing at all.  And I’d much rather have a small piece of cheese than an entire bag of Cheetos.

Yesterday and Saturday both I spent a little time explaining my Lentventure to my parents.  Last night I had a conversation with my dad specifically about it.  This morning, he brought me doughnuts.  (I find spelling “doughnuts” instead of “donuts” so much more fulfilling.) 

“Dad, is Lent over yet?”

“I don’t know.  Is it?”

“Has it been Easter yet?”

“No…  So, when’s Easter?”

“April.”

“So, you can’t eat anything good for two weeks?”

“Easter’s, like, the 24^th or 26^th.  So, six weeks. “

“That sucks.  You can’t eat anything good for a month and a half.”

 

Helping. 

The weirdest part of the whole conversation this morning was that at no point did I really want a doughnut. 

When he first said the word “doughnut” my ears kind of perked up and I started salivating a little.  Which I realize now is apparently a totally conditioned reaction to the thought of a doughnut.  I was salivating and weighing whether or not I really, really wanted one (since I have no willpower, I probably would have just given in had it sounded awesome).  However, I realized it did not sound that appealing.  The idea of a doughnut (which I actually used to love and crave) sounded nice, but the thought of actually eating one sounded kinda yucky.  The thought of how my body would feel after was pretty much horrible.  So I had my usual protein shake and dry sourdough toast.  Which was fabulous. 

The great thing is that I haven’t even completed six days of the Lentventure and I feel AWESOME.  I’m not tired all the time.  I’m not constantly irritable or snippy.  I can focus much better than it seems like I was previously able to.  I am super relaxed, like, all the time.  That’s not something I’m used to.  Energetic and uptight, yes.  Relaxed-ish and lethargic, yes.  Crazy relaxed and energetic, not so much. 

I feel like I’m on the edge of a new me.  Not so different from the old me.  Not less fun to be around, but maybe a little easier to be around because I won’t be dragging so much nervous energy along with me. 

Now I just have to work on only receiving and sending out positive energy.

I hate trolls. Not the dolls. Those are cool. Kinda.

You know what’s perfect for a day like today?

Radiohead.

And Cee-Lo Green.

Don’t ask me how they go together, but it works in this magical and therapeutic way.  Try it.  You’ll feel better.

Oooh…  And Sia.

Basically, the playlist I created yesterday is perfect for my current mood.  It’s overcast and drizzling on and off outside, but I am toasty inside my office.  I’m not super sleepy today, so I must have passed out and had comfortable dreams all of last night.  Which is great, considering how stiff my neck was while I tried to fall asleep. 

All in all, it’s really a beautiful day.  For me.

Except for that one thing.  You know, ladies.  The evil troll who’s not tall enough to stab you in the heart, so he jabs you repeatedly in the uterus with some sort of blunt stabby object.  Then twists it around for a while.  A lot. 

You know that scene from the movie The Last House on the Left (70’s version) where they pretty much play with that girl’s intestines?  Yeah.  Evil troll + my uterus = gory 70’s anti-war movie with creepy flower child music in the background. 

Why can menstruation not be like Hendrix at Woodstock, but without the bad acid?  I want to have a party of happiness, not one of self pity in which I curl up under my fuzzy cat blanket and watch Scooby-Doo for three hours.  Not that that sounds bad.  But it’s more of a “sick day” thing.  Not an “I feel like dying today” kind of thing.  I don’t think I could feel awful enough to call in sick for my period, anyway.  Because I am probably clinically insane and couldn’t just say “I’m sick.”  I’d be like, “OH MY GAWD!!!  THERE IS BLOOD EVERYWHERE!  I AM DYING AND IN PAIN!” and my boss would be all “Police are on their way to your house.  Can you describe your assailant?”  And I’d say, “It had to have been that motherfucking troll-like uterus stabber again!”

Then I’d be bleeding all over my padded cell.

And if The Shining* taught me anything, it’s that I should be afraid of putting red and white together.  It’s pretty much the creepiest color combination.  So, thanks for that, Kubrick.  You red and white loving bastard.

Maybe in a little bit I’ll try to stretch or something.  That’s supposed to help, right?

And green beans.  Green beans would totally help right now.  Because they sound delicious and would make my body happy.  That’s how I’m getting through Lent, by the way.  I’m thinking, “Would this make my body happy or annoyed?”  If the answer is “annoyed,” I don’t do it.  Exercise last night?  Happy heart.  Banana?  Happy tummy and blood sugar, without crazy snack-food indigestion.

Go figure. 

I’m going to take my troll to lunch and see if there’s anything that doesn’t make him want to abuse me. 

By the way, is it bad if I told my coworker my tummy hurt so he would take pity on me and not ask me to do stuff?

*The Shining is one of my favorite movies.  Not because I love scary movies or something.  But because I like the characters.  And Jack Nicholson is a BAMF. 

The book was way better, though.  From every perspective.  It actually made me feel like I was losing my mind a little bit.  Steven King is a genius on cocaine.

Sleep deprivation makes me want pancakes.

I am not the girl who sleeps with other girls' boyfriends.

I am not the girl who hooks up with random guys out of boredom or because I'm lonely.

I am not the girl who can spend a night with a guy and just forget about it afterward.

I wish I could not care. I wish I could be with someone even a couple of times just for physical gratification and then forget about it entirely afterward.

But I'm not that girl, either.

I have come to terms with the fact that, even if I do want a fast, cheap, and easy fling for purely physical reasons, I cannot do it. In a way, it's almost annoying. I really, really want to be able to disconnect like a guy and not care. I am just completely incapable of doing so.

I think the problem is that, despite my sometimes slightly irritable and extremely sarcastic nature, I am really built for loving and caring about other people. Despite how much I say I don't want to deal with other people's crap and I don't want a family, etc., I find that when I dig deep inside myself, I really don't mind and I kind of do want a family. Not that I'd make the greatest parent. But I definitely wouldn't be the worst. In my heart, even though I do get tired of it, I don't mind taking care of other people-- as long as I don't have to do it all the time. I like feeling useful. (Please note the line between “useful” and “used.”) And I LOVE feeling loved.

This is why I will never be able to have one-night-stands. This is why (among other reasons) I don't go out and part all the time. This is why I'm at a point of completely not caring what other people think. Especially men. I pierce what I want. I wear what I want. And I do things for myself, because this is the time in my life I can afford to do that.

Oy. Now that that rant is over...

I am in love with a Maroon 5 song today. It's called “Stutter.” You should listen to it.

Seriously.

Now.

I'm super sleepy. BEDTIME!!! Yay!!!

Because Jesus wants me to wear skinny jeans.

Lent.

This year I’m pretty much going to use it as incentive to do the healthy things I’ve been saying I need to do for years.  I think it’s a great plan.

No soda.  No super processed foods (goodbye, Cheetos).  Lots of salads.  Maybe the occasional French fry, because I can’t leave them alone. 

That’s the first part of my Lenten adventure. 

Part deux: Exercise.  I keep saying I’m going to do it on a regular basis.  And, judging from the way my ass looked in the skinny jeans I tried to squeeze it into this morning, I really need to.  So, I will.  Because I have to for Lent.

See?  Great ideas.  I’m full of them.

The problem is that Lent doesn’t start till Wednesday, technically.  So I have two days I can just fuck up my diet and body.  Which will make it that much harder to start when the time comes.  Also, it’s always easier to do something the day you officially decide to do it.  Waiting sucks balls.

Also, I pretty much have no money.  That should be incentive to do my taxes, but I keep forgetting.  Stupid taxes.  I’m also always a little bit afraid to do them because I don’t want to have to pay anything.  That would blow.

I’m hoping that the vow to do things I really need to be in the habit of doing anyway will help me build a routine.  And that being in that routine for 40 days will help me continue those behaviors after Lent is over. 

I feel like I focus a lot on the “I have jiggly parts” thing when I talk about exercise.  That’s not the only reason I want to exercise.  I mean, it’s a big reason.  I get tired of feeling like an Amazon ALL THE TIME.  But I really just want to feel better.  I start doing all these things (like eating yogurt every day and drinking juice instead of soda) and then I stop them because I’m really tired and need caffeine or I’d rather have a cheese stick than a yogurt.  In all reality, I just want to find a way to force myself to stick to healthy behaviors and not allow my willpower to crumple like a dead leaf at the thought of a doughnut. 

Mmm…  Doughnuts…

See?

No self control.

So, in honor of Christ’s desert thingie, I will become a healthier person.  Without doughnuts. 

Expect me to be a little grumpy for, like, the next week.