I’m generally not a moody person. I refuse to believe in PMS or any of that crap. I try to be optimistic and happy most of the time. But today, I feel as though I’m in a funk. I can’t seem to find the energy to get into what I wanted to do this evening. Maybe it’s because my husband is playing video games and talking trash with other gamers, and it’s driving me crazy. Or maybe it’s because the house is a mess and I just don’t want to deal with it anymore, by myself. Maybe I’ve really lost my mind tonight. I don’t know.

I felt fine until I got home. Then I got tired and laid down for about an hour, by myself, curled up in bed. I wasn’t even hungry for dinner, which wasn’t even being cooked anyway. It seems as though all the tiny things that would normally slide right off me are making me cringe. They’re infecting my nerves, making me want to run out of the house and down the road, run as fast as I can to somewhere else.

But I won’t do that. It’s cold outside, and still a bit rainy, and I’ve already worked out today. I’m tired. And obviously grumpy. Obviously. God, I can’t even write a decent blog post tonight. What is up with me?

I want to do so many things, and I need to start writing my book again. I’ve let it linger for far too long in the land of unfinished things. And I know exactly what I want to write. Yet I don’t write anything at all. It’s my own fault for being so idle. But with all the video game noise and the cats and kids and laundry, I find that I have no space in my house that is sacred for me anymore. I need my own sound proof room, with lots of pretty pictures and shelves of books, and a nice comfy couch. Or even a really cool desk. I remember reading a book a long time ago where one of the rooms in the house was like a jungle, with grass growing out of the floor, and trees, and flowers all over the place. Now that’s what I want. A room that is like a doorway to an open field, with dandelions swaying slowly in the breeze, and the scent of lilacs. I could really get things done in a room like that.

Sort of like in the movie Troll, where the apartment opens out into another realm.

I think the chances of that happening are pretty slim. So I’ll have to make do with the hope that soon the husband will fall asleep on the couch, and the house will be mine. It will be the wee hours of the morning, but that’s okay. It’s the only time of the day that I can really hear myself think anyway.

I’m sorry for being so openly antagonistic. It’s not my usual character at all. I think the universe is slowly working some mojo on me that isn’t sitting well. I think I just needed to write something, anything, to get this out of my system. Whatever it is, I hope it goes away before tomorrow. Thankfully it’s almost Thursday, and I like Thursdays. Thursdays have such promise. And tomorrow night promises to be lots of fun, listening to my friend play drums in a band, in a bar. Good times.