Disencombobulated

I'm feeling pointy, vaguely like a porcupine. It's a kind of 'kick the door down and shout obscenities' sort of a mood, so it's best to blog, methinks.

The problem with this is the effect is has on me physically. It's hard to concentrate, it's hard to breathe, and nothing fits right from my skin to my coat.

The frustrations are piling up a bit, and there's no release or pressure valve at this point available to me (as I'm out of building supplies, can't smoke until Sunday and can't drink 'til after the birthday party).

WARNING> WHINGING AHEAD

I'm also cleaning the damn house, including mopping and vacuuming. Thank goodness for the The Boy's work ethic or I swear, with turnip in hand, I would burn the place down.

BAH