Good Morning, Please Stop Talking

Yes.  I am an asshole.

From the hours of 6am (or earlier when necessary) to about 10am, I am a complete dick.  Really doesn’t matter what has happened, how I’ve slept, what I ate the night before, Nothing.  Matters.  At.  All.  I’ve tried and tried, and it’s like an unattainable floaty thing out of my grasp, to act like a decent human being in those hours.  I’m not sure what it is, but I wake up furious and it doesn’t go away for at least an hour, sometimes two.

This affects my loving husband only for the most part.  Which is terrible.  He’s the last person at whom I wish to lash out.  There’s a pretty elemental key, however, that he keeps forgetting:


There will be no purpose, no joyful outcome, nothing you might expect from a normal person.  You will YET AGAIN be disappointed, nay, enraged at my ability to be an absolute (insert any fashion of female-asshole-descriptive nouns here.)

I do apologize.  And for everyone’s information, it’s not something I shrug off and say “oh well it’s just who I am DEAL WITH IT.”  No.  I take my abhorrent behavior quite seriously, but upon realizing there is no fucking cure, I just try to not talk.  This is my brilliant solution.

The not talking, however, is just seen as yet another shitty evasive tactic.  I’m doing it for your own protection.  I promise.  Lest the words that next fly out of my mouth are words that no one is meant to hear.

The actual cure would be to somehow acquire a career that allows me to lounge in my robe for as long as possible.  Like writing.

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