bitchier bedside

Oh god, I am in such a terrible mood. I am not sure where this sudden repulsion for life materialized from. I got plenty of sleep last night. I had a very full and exciting weekend. I even ate breakfast this morning, Fruity Pebbles to be specific, which is such a joyous and colorful cereal that a bowl of it really should make me feel better about being a human. Nonetheless, every time the telephone rings I am inclined to chuck it across the room, preferably shattering it into a million tiny plastic unrepairable pieces. Yes, that would be satisfactory. Every pop-up on this broken-down computer releases a torrent of dangerously murderous thoughts. My clothing is uncomfortable. My skin is uncomfortable. The voices and laughter of the ladies in the office sound something akin to nails on a chalkboard. All music I attempt to play is annoying and gives me a headache. My coffee tastes burnt. My hair is making my neck itch. My contacts are attempting to suffocate my eyes. As a female I am prone to blame my irrational emotions on my menstrual cycle but if I were completely honest with myself, I am probably just crazy.

Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious April walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds' irregular babel
And the leaves' litter.

By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover's gestures unbalance the air,
His gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower.
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.

How she longed for winter then!--
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock, each sentiment within border,
And heart's frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.

-Sylvia Plath "Spinster"