14 Irritants

This post would best be read aloud in the voice of Slappy Squirrel from Animaniacs. (If you don’t know Slappy, spend a little time on youtube getting acquainted with her. Here’s a place to start.)

Things that irritate me about myself

  1. I am easily irritated (Homes said, about ten years ago, “Your capacity for tolerating things that bother you is so low, it boggles the mind.” Obviously these words have stuck with me, if I’m quoting them ten years later.)
  2. I can’t seem to pass by a mirror without looking at myself. No, I am not enamoured of my own beauty. I don’t know why I do this, I just do
  3. when I get emotional and/or illogical during an argument
  4. my impatience in the kitchen, which translates to the same boring food options when I’m alone, like quesadillas, leftovers, sandwiches, and other things that take less than two minutes to prepare
  5. when I read/hear certain nouns like “doctor,” “fireman,” “judge,” or “medical examiner,” and automatically envision a man, not a woman
  6. the endless obsessing I’m capable of in regards to writing, exercising, dieting, and anything else that concerns just me
  7. my intense and undeniable need to have a good chunk of time to myself on a weekly, if not a daily, basis

Outside things that irritate me

  1. hearing only the bass portion of any song (I’m talking to you, people across the street!)
  2. yappy dogs
  3. listening to people who don’t like their jobs talk about their jobs (unless they can find the humor, ridiculousness, and/or grace in the situation – then this exercise is a learning opportunity)
  4. being stuck in a meeting or get-together where one person takes over the conversation, essentially turning everyone else into an unwilling audience
  5. commercials and advertisements
  6. door-to-door salespeople (Girl Scouts selling cookies excepted)
  7. telemarketers, mosquitos, and any song I hear played more than twice a day on a single radio station (okay, that was three in one, but I’m trying to keep this list to 14)

I think that now, being pregnant, is a good time to post such a list, because I can blame my bitchiness on pregnancy hormones. But really, these things always bother me and always have and probably always will.

While proofreading this, I realized that each of the seven “outside” irritants is auditory-related, with the exception of print advertisements, and maybe door-to-door salespeople who are mimes. Sensitive ears, I guess. What irritates you? And do you tend to be irritated more by things you see, or hear, or something else? Feel free to vent below, as long as it isn’t “I’m irritated by blog posts that are self-absorbed rants about things which irritate the blogger.”

I Kinda Miss the Little Monster

It’s been said before. In fact, I say it all the time: Absence makes the heart grow fonder. And I know I just dreamed of quiet, with lots of time to myself, the kind I used to have B. Z. (Before Z). But it’s really quiet.

And when she comes home, she doesn’t necessarily want to hang out with me. It could be she’s burnt out from being around people at school all day. Or I’m just not fun. (Maybe both.) Or she really missed her toys. Yes, that’s it. She does love having adventures with her imaginary friends.

8:15 to 3:15 makes a long day. And I’m typing away, being all productive and so on. Even cleaned the shower this morning!

Well, whatever nostalgia I’m feeling now will surely end next week. No school at all, plus what I’m sure will be a perfectly lovely, without-any-tantrums six-hour drive to my grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving. And then, two days later, the six-hour drive back home.

So, forget all the above. I’m going to enjoy this quiet. No more naps! I need to stay awake and hear how quiet it is.

The Germ Factory

There was one glorious day – Monday – when my nose wasn’t runny and itchy, and my throat wasn’t sore, and my head didn’t ache. Then came along late Monday night, and the whole cold has begun again.

On the bright side, I got tons of work done on le manuscript yesterday, so today I am totally, completely justified in doing nothing but watch the BBC’s Pride and Prejudice. This is best done over one long stretch, you know, block out five hours without interruption. But I did a few other things (no chores, don’t worry), like check email, look up recipes for vegetables in the CSA box that I’ve never even heard of before, play a round or two of solitaire (not twenty – I’m finally getting tired of it), tinker with the synopsis and pitch for le manuscript…then I came back to the television, ready to watch Mr. Darcy get rejected by Elizabeth Bennet.

Husband called and I answered the phone with, “Mr. Darcy is about to propose. Can’t talk now.” I could hear him roll his eyes.

But really, it’s like a pilgrimmage into a comforting, familiar world. When I’m sick with my second cold in two weeks, at least give me that.

Random Bits

No energy – sick with a cold. So let’s do a Friday Five.

  1. Z’s Great Grey Owl costume turned out really well! Husband did the feathers for the mask, I did hours of sewing for the cape o’ feathers, and she absolutely loved it. I absolutely loved sneaking chocolate from her Halloween bag. Will post a how-to-make-an-owl-costume some other time.
  2. I’ve got a Fabulous Support Network re-reading le manuscript, but already I’ve found Flaws In The Middle. I really shouldn’t read books on craft when I’m trying to finish a project. One of the chapters in Donald Maass’s The Fire in Fiction covers what he calls the “saggy middle.” No, he better not be talking about my tummy. The problem with middle scenes is that the main character tends to go through the story, and these middle scenes, especially, without a clear goal or inner or outer turning points. Now angry at the world and frantically revising.
  3. I need a really good book to read. Fiction, nonfiction, YA, adult – doesn’t matter. But I need something to suck me in, and fiction usually does the job better than non, for me. Preferably something short. Recommendations?
  4. Have I mentioned I’m sick? Murphy’s Law must govern preschool schedules, because the week I get sick is the week Z has two days off of school. So now I’ve got to keep her busy all day long. We’ve been doing special art projects. We made a paper chain for Thanksgiving, and I got her a bunch of fall-themed foam stickers so she’s making more Thanksgiving decorations. Also, at her school they give them those perler beads that the child puts on a plastic peg board, and then the theory is that the adult will unearth her iron and iron the plastic beads so they stick together to make a fun, bright shape for everyone to enjoy.
  5. Finally, on the subject of school. Z really wants to go for the full day. She’s been going for half-days, so we promised to talk to her teacher about it at the parent-teacher conference, which was today. Her teacher recommended starting on Monday! As in, three days from now. I’d thought there would be hemming and hawing, and we’d start her full-time maybe in January, giving us all a lot of time to get used to the idea. But Z wants to go now, and her teacher sees no reason not to. Plus in the coming weeks there will be lots of breaks for the holidays, and supposedly this will make the transition easier. Part of me is overjoyed at the prospect of so much time to myself before the baby comes, and a part of me is weeping, “She’s growing up so fast!” But that second part is mostly quiet, especially when I have a headache and a cold and all I want to do is take a nap that lasts until March.

That’s all! Happy Friday!

Time Out!

If a one-year-old gets one minute time-outs, a two-year-old gets two minutes, and a three-year-old three minutes (and so on), it stands to reason that a 30-year-old should get 3o minutes for each time out.

Am barricading myself in my bedroom now.

She’s out there, though. “Mommy!” … “Mommy?” … “Mommmeeeeeeeee!”

30 minutes. I’d rather spend it reading, or working on le manuscript, or napping. A nap would be good. Instead, she’s pounding on the door like a body-snatcher, or a zombie or, even scarier, a hyperactive three-year-old. Might have to further retreat into master bathroom.

So here I am, perched on the counter next to the sink, armed with a bottle of hairspray from 1988 and a toilet plunger. Not the time-out I needed.