I am irritable as of late, somewhat inexplicably so. Most likely the underlying cause of my malaise is a combination of several factors, not the least of which is rather severe tiredness. (Not exhaustion; that’s something different entirely. I’m just pooped, dudes.)
Some of you will likely know that the Good Husband was away for work about a week and a half, during which time I functioned as sole parental unit (including titles of cook, maid and taxi driver). It was work enough to feed and clothe three offspring, let alone keep the house spic-and-span. As a result, it looks like a tornado has ripped through here. Simply looking at the mess makes me feel even more tired.
On top of that, there was nary a lick of writing or creative work done. By the time all kidlets were shuttled off to their respective beds, I could barely string a half-dozen words together into a coherent sentence. Reading to relax and trying to get some sleep became paramount.
So let’s just say that disappointment combined with regret and guilt have all resulted in a good ol’ case of frustration. So I’m grumpy. And short-tempered. Annoyed, even. At this rate, I’ll get nothing creative done until Ms. Junior Peanut goes off to Junior Kindergarten — three years from now. That thought just makes my chest hurt.
I’m too discombobulated to really think calmly about all of this and figure out how to get on track and move forward, instead of just around and around on the hamster wheel. I probably need more sleep, at least.
And perhaps extra fiber.