Thwarted

I wanted to sit down and write my annual holiday letter/essay, but I have found myself feeling rather pissy. I got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, didn't get my regular cuppa joe, was late bringing Sullivan to school, found myself in the middle of a heated discussion regarding the school's administration, found that the coffee I had left in the pot had been drunk by the time I returned home, responded to an email that I should probably have just let slide, fielded phone calls about another controversy at school, wanted to go back to bed but had a script meeting to attend, prepared for the meeting, then the meeting got cancelled, now it is 10:30 in the morning and I've written the worst run-on sentence in recent history and I'm starving and there is nothing to eat in the house but some tortillas and fig newtons. I'm not feeling particularly Christmassy this morning. I want someone to take care of me. Someone should come over and sit in my hotter than hell apartment (I think I've sweated off a few pounds in the last week) pick up a bit for me then stroke my hair and tell me stupid jokes until I feel ready to go out for a little hot cider and Christmas shopping.

Maybe I'll just sit in front of Crabby McCrabcrab's tank for a little while and stare at him until he moves. He has molted again and it is kind of weird fun to watch him come out to eat his old exoskeleton.