About Today...

I have an extremely bad attitude this morning.

Lots of things sitting on my desk to do, but absolutely no desire to do them. I've been working my ass off for the last 6 months and feel like I haven't gotten much accomplished. Now, it's starting to get me down.

This afternoon at 3:00 I need to be at a workshop to help some students. I have begged for some items to be shipped to me from across the country, and they are scheduled to come in today. I am absolutely positive they will get here about 3:00--but an hour across town from where I need to be. They could have been shipped here for early delivery, but no...I doubt they were. So I'm going to get an ulcer worrying about it all day and then still be empty-handed and foolish when 3:00 rolls around.

I'm struggling to hold it together--sometimes, when I get down like this I get a short fuse and snap at people who piss me off, rather than let things roll off my back.

Here's an example:

My parents just moved. The called and asked if I wanted to come over and check out their assortment of old stuff before it gets sent to the dump. Uhhh, no, but thank you. Seriously, they had some camping equipment. Still, no.

So, my dad had a bunch of important papers for me, like my original birth certificate and every report card I ever had growing up...I did want those so I went over to their house 1 day before the move. And, sure enough, I ended out in the garage being forced to examine old camping equipment.

"How about this shirt? don't you want it?"

"Mom, take a look at me--this shirt wouldn't even make it around my arm!"

"How about this campstool?"

"No, thanks. I appreciate it, though."

"Don't you need a cot?"

Hmmm. We could use one in case Ryan's friends stay over or something--we usually just set up a sleeping bag on the floor. But is it worth storing a cot all the time just to use every once in a while? I really don't care. I know they kind of want to feel like some of this is going to good use--my dad, smiling, handed me a 35-year-old box of caps and lids to cover over exposed bolts on swingsets. He was proud that his super-storage capacity was not in vain. But back to the cot...

"Okay, that I could use."

"There are three of them--maybe leave one in case one of your brothers wants it."

"Fine. I'll take this one." (the cleanest looking one).

----

Two hours later. I'm back at their house because in all the cot business I forgot my important papers and they need the box moved out before tomorrow. I've already been home and unloaded the cot in the garage.

----

Brother P: "Hi. I heard you got a cot?" I could tell he was stressed and had been going over this again and again in his mind. He went straight to this point with his fists and jaw clenched and seemed that kind of confrontational way where you are trying to act casual.

"Uh, yeah."

"How about we switch it out? That one was mine." Sounded rehearsed, with the upbeat tone of 'Hey, I've got a great idea, why don't we do it my way...'

Me (went from zero to pissed off in about 5 seconds): "No."

"Seriously? You aren't going to switch?"

"No, I've already unloaded it at home. Just get one of the other ones. They're all the same." (they aren't--the one I got was clearly the best of the group).

"But that one had my name on it!" (reminds me of what his initials are and how that signfies that it is his...we used these for summer camp when we were kids so my dad would sometimes carve our initials somewhere because every kid at summer camp shipped in a cot and they looked alike).

"I didn't see any name on it. Just grab one of the other ones. Who cares? It's just a 15-year-old cot."

Thinking: why should I end up with a crappy one after I got my arm twisted to take one and I already lugged it home? I already had to convince Fran that we could actually use that one, and now all this nonsense. They've been here for a freaking lifetime, so why argue about it now?

Brother P: "I can't believe you seriously aren't going to switch."

"Oh well, believe it." (Now, a thug with an Uzi would have to shoot me to get it back).

----

6 days later:

"I can't believe you took my property without asking!"

"What?"

"It had my name on it! But just forget about it--I don't even want it anymore..."

I went into the garage and looked for about three minutes and finally found tiny initials carved on the frame.

Whatever. Come get it if you want it. This reminds me of people going to court over estates when someone dies. Just petty nonsense. But I hated feeling like the unyielding antagonist in this scenario. Normally, I'm the one who just caves in to smooth things over, especially since I didn't really care to begin with. Is this really as much a matter of principle as I am making it out to be?

People are pissing me off...