rager

sometimes the only way to deal with something not so pleasant is to be honest about it. so here it is. i've been a crazy raging bitch lately. i have moments when i'm not a bitch, sure, but more often than not i'm thinking horrible things and sometimes i say them outloud. it's like i have tourettes. i can't stop myself from blurting out hatred.
here's an example. two days ago i was in my new favorite store, the pump station (it is what you think it is), and the checkout was taking way too long. it was taking long because the woman in front of me was trying to exchange a breast pump that had a bum battery and for some reason it took the three people behind the counter, plus the store manager, plus the woman who was exchanging it to figure out what to do. send the whole pump back to the company? replace the battery? give her a refund? you'd of thought they were trying to decided whether or not to drop the a-bomb.
anyway, the bitch flared up and i said exactly what i was thinking, which was, "ladies, does it really take four people to solve what seems to be a pretty simple breast pump problem?" (omg, did i just say that out loud?)
other nastiness of note this week: i gave some punk in an audi the bird for cutting me off and machine-gunned cuss words at him with my mother in the car; i've said more than once to tayloe "you need to take a shower" when really i think i'm the one who smells; and (poor tayloe) i actually asked him not to move around so much while he's sleeping.
this is me: "hi, sweetheart, you know i love you, but could you please not move at night? no i mean, please don't even roll over. not even once. and if you can, please try not to breathe."
seriously, the government should send post-partum women to war - i bet most wouldn't think twice about donning a machine gun and firing off a few (hundred thousand) rounds.
i haven't felt this moody since i ripped the cover of "what to expect when you're expecting" into 4,000 little pieces because the cheesy sketch of the dopey woman with a quilt & baby in a rocking chair made me see red. that was early in the first trimester.
anyway, i want this crazy lady to go away (not you mom), and i thought that maybe shining a bright light on her ugly little head might help. be free, little bitch. go bug someone else.
and also, tayloe husband? you're a saint and i love your little angle wings with all my heart. please keep breathing at night.