mercurial scribe

Though the moving process has been a relatively fluid experience and living with my mother has proven to be much more intrinsic and normal than certain people had estimated, I have been a mood swing maven. Blame the bright sun or the re-restart (no, that isn’t a typo) of meds, but whatever you do, don’t remind me I only seem to be feeding the savage beast with sugar and distraction.

In an attempt to keep my sense of humor from souring too much, I will relate my story in the order in which I relate to Disney’s depiction of the seven dwarves.

Sneezy
That was how I started out our moving experience. Between a cold Justin so courteously shared with me and the normal end of spring bout of sinusitis, I sneezed and honked until my nose and throat simply gave in. Justin is still coughing. That only makes me slightly smug since he decided to share it with me.

Sleepy
I thought that my first week in our new apartment would be spent unpacking and fluffing the nest, so to speak. Instead it was spent sleeping and lazing about in a distracted, fatigued haze fueled by television and junk food.

Happy
Then alas, by the end of the week, I was thrilled with our choice of home. It’s sunny and bright during the day, yet easily stays at least 10 degrees cooler than it is outside. The layout is very nice and the neighborhood is pretty. Did I mention that my dog loves all the new space to romp? I felt like the cartoon beginning of Grease…

Dopey
The weekend came upon us quickly. Last Saturday was Justin’s college graduation party, a mere week after we had moved in. Mom didn’t participate due to family politics (she doesn’t get within 3 square miles of where she knows my father to be) and I was roped into duped volunteered for setting up decorations. In the hot sun. Gimpy. While Justin hung out with his friends next door for nearly an hour. (I said to say “Hi!”, not catch up on the past six years, dear.) And upon his return, I was privileged enough to hear my mother-in-law screeching at an irritating horror chord harmony an octave above high C “Just-iiiiiiin!” *twitch twitch*

Grandma and her husband Harry also had the good sense to arrive a full hour early. And Grandma, who had cataract surgery a month ago and was sporting these shnazzy über goggles, felt that it was necessary to remind me every 138 seconds that her new glasses? Oh yes, they’re coming on Tuesday. Tuesday. THIS NEXT TUESDAY. After I was sure it was emblazoned on my brain, I gimp-hopped my way - as quickly as I could - and spiked my Diet Coke (for some reason, my father-in-law only bought Diet) with some Captain Morgan. Okay, more like spiked some Captain Morgan with Diet Coke. (Do you see why I chose Dopey on this one?)

The party went Fabulously in my opinion. And we came home with forty pounds of leftovers. And apparently my mother isn’t the only one who cooks for legions.

Bashful
Our Sunday was leisurely. Food galore. Oversleeping. The Sunday paper read in our jammies and TiVo-ed Gilmore Girls to watch. With lots and lots of coffee. Not to mention, the possibility of nookie.

Doc
Yesterday, I hit high gear. I had been sleeping in a bed surrounded by boxes. I mean bedside to EACH WALL SOLID BOXES. It’s bad enough I’m a gimp and it’s been a week and a half of living here and I’m STILL high-stepping just to maneuver around the damn place (not fun with a hamstring/calf/plantaris tendon injury). So I was hell-bent on moving enough boxes out of the room to orient the bed in the manner I wanted it. That’s also without mentioning piling all the boxes that are His against his side of the bed. You know, as a really subtle hint.

We don’t do subtle here because here, subtle doesn’t work.

Grumpy
Now we arrive at our current state. I am pissy. Why? Don’t know. Just am. I’m in the middle of my ‘feminine cycle’, so it isn’t PMS. There’s no friction at home, only tons of “me time”. Can you hear me cringe from there?

I’m just grumpy. This sucks. My leg hurts, my Husband can be so thick, my mother cooks too much, the air is just too damn airy in my not-so-humble opinion! I don’t like that Justin has more money to spend on himself than I do, thanks to all of his graduation gifts. I don’t like that my dog has developed a sudden and persisting need to cuddle. Or that my coffee just doesn’t taste the same after I cleaned out the coffee grinder on my Beloved Cuisinart Coffeemaker.

And that’s where it sits, dear readers. I’m Grumpy and you’re… well, you’re not clicking my ads enough. Bah.

< / Scrooge-likeness >

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Update

Upon telling my mother of my foul mood, she says,

“You would get like that when you were a little girl, you’d get really grumpy. Anytime you were in a foul mood for no reason, I knew you were bored. Once I got you started on some new activity, you’d get all into it for hours and hours, sometimes even days.”

Light bulb moment, anybody? Seriously… if you ever want to know more about your own habits, talk to your mother. Apparently, she does know everything.