Today has pretty much sucked, subjectively, since I woke.  To be clear, there’s nothing wrong I can pin down. I slept well, and the one bad dream I recalled when I woke was more saddening than nightmarish. The day has built itself around a theme of frustration, and my tolerance for frustration today is so low that even the smallest success seems framed in associated failures. The sounds of voices irritate me to a point I can only describe as ‘near violence’. At this point I hesitate to undertake any task I had looked forward to, for fear of a moment of frustration turning to an uncontrolled outburst of anger. So far so good, but I am constantly vigilant and my mood is brittle and aggravated – with myself, with the world, with the details of living and loving, whether large or small.

Mindfulness, generally, has been helping with so much, so much of the time, I have grown to count on it. It isn’t helping me now beyond seeming to give me a moment to pause, and force a cease-fire internally. My outward facing behavior remains within the acceptable boundaries. Go me. I want to throw a really whopping fucking tantrum – with some screaming and crying, some inappropriate projectiles launched needlessly at things I actually value with predictably poor outcomes, maybe also some door slamming, feet stamping, and vile language used as emotional weaponry. Mindfulness is letting me put some of this into words – but it does nothing to prevent something as simple as a typo becoming a moment of real rage, with crying, and angry invective. I don’t like this. I don’t want this. I don’t need this. I want to enjoy a calm serene Sunday, getting a few things done. Fuck I’d at least like to get my damned laundry done today – and I just don’t want to actually do anything but burn the world down. (I’m not being literal – I’m menstrual, and my hormones are wreaking havoc with my comfort and my subjective experience. If this is new material for you, talk to more women in an open way about their experiences with hormone hell.)

I really wanted to get some things done today – I was looking forward to them, and ‘taking care of me’ seems to demand that I get them done – and I just don’t fucking care. I am just as angry and frustrated in advance in contemplation of doing anything at all as I am going to be in a day or two that I didn’t get them done.  It is aggravating as fuck and I just want to take my toys and ‘go home’ – but there is no home to go to, I take being a woman everywhere I go. 😦

On the other hand…I guess I can count today as a success. Aside from some tearful moments early in the morning, I’ve managed to force myself to comply with an acceptable standard of behavior. I haven’t raised my voice at anyone. I didn’t snarl at the hardware guy who ‘sympathetically’ offered to help me select a compound miter saw because he didn’t expect ‘girls to know enough about hardware to select a good tool’ – although I did very firmly and politely send him away. I didn’t scream at the woman who frustrated my first attempt to do an exchange on a different item, or cry over it when later the issue she had didn’t even come up with a different clerk. Small things just haven’t been going well. I feel… thwarted. Yep. There it is. My menstrual experience is that I am thwarted. By the world. By circumstances. By emotions. By inconvenience. Hopes, dreams, needs, desires – I can’t get a fucking thing to turn out well the first time, if at all, today.

I’m so done with Sunday, already. I feel cross and unreasonable. I know if I could somehow lower my resistance, feel less aggravated over small stuff, let things be small stuff… the day would probably turn around.

Fuck today. I give up. I’m going to lay down for a while and cry.