You say, be still my love.

I realized something this week . . . I’m not a glass half-full type of person. I’m never going to be a glass half-full type of person. The glass is always going to be almost empty. I’m always looking to fill that sucker up. Right? Right. Cram it in, as they say.

Perhaps that explains the palpitations.

We’re fine, me myself and I. We’re working, too hard. We’re now forcing the overtime issue. We’re exhausted. But we’re fine.

I’m not good with pep talks. I’m Grumpy Grumperson with pep talks. When things seem horrible, they’re horrible. I can’t be told things will get better . . . because better seems quite a ways away and better ain’t happening in this instant. I’m a stubborn ass who isn’t changing moods halfway into one. I apologize big time to those people who try to snap me out of it. Sorry, it just won’t work. (Look back, I said stubborn.)

But, don’t worry, I’ll get over it. I always do. I just need to be a pathetic, pity-party-throwing SOB for a moment . . . or many moments. Sometimes my parties last for days (in my pants).

I’ve had a few too many late walks home over the past few weeks. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking . . . and not a lot of doing. (Have also been doing some car-dodging. There was almost a lack of a Mugwatch around here at 9:03 p.m. on Monday night. And, yes, I totally had the right-of-way . . . for once.) I’ve not figured things out just yet. I’m tired of “figuring things out.” I’m ready to just have them figured out already.

I hate complaining (Riiiiiight, you say. Piss off, I say.) Yet, I seem to be doing an awful lot of it of late. And who needs that? Certainly no one I know. Here’s me, trying to keep my mouth shut for awhile. (Let’s see how long it lasts.)

In other news, I have about two pairs of work pants that fit. Baggy and breezy is my new look for the Fall, whether I like it or not. Hot? Yeah, you could say so. (Oh, snap.)

Thanks for listening. Reading. Rolling your eyes.

Where are my pants?