Blame it on Pledge Drive. I just stay cranky during Pledge Drive. Waking up to WABE locals yammering financial guilt into my ear at 6am does not make for a happy yupster. Not on top of having just been buffeted by confounding dreams of guilt and rage.
My karma's been all wrong lately, and I just had this overwhelming wave of despair come over me this morning with my coffee that things were just not going right at all, despite the (good?) news of Benhazir Bhutto's emotional return to Pakistan.
What with the drought and the State fighting so with The Feds (that kinda shit's just not funny to us Southerners), and this rain-tease God's working on us, and my kid having a meltdown this morning over whatever she wanted to wear to school being "too hot on her back" (I draw the line at backless halter tops and bikinis in elementary school), and this grossly dead tree in our condo yard that could fall on units and cars and cause lawsuits to the board members (me) if the board doesn't do something to get it down soon, and this guy I have a wicked-bad crush on who lives halfway around the world and doesn't even know I exist, and the fact that every woman I know my age, well almost, has The Cancer, and it's just a matter of time before it's me, and the brakes are now really squealling on the Volvo...
So what's a soccer mom to do to right things in her world? Well, I went right to The New Yorker and got myself a tattoo. I swear I feel better already.