I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Please explain how that’s possible. It’s the exact same side of the bed I’ve woken up on forever. In fact, technically, it isn’t even a side — it’s the flipping middle.
Now, if I’d woken up in the trunk of a car, sure, a bad mood is certainly justified. But I wasn’t in the trunk of a car; I was curled up in my own soft bed under a warm, fluffy duvet in a nice, quiet apartment. On a sunny spring morning. So what’s the deal, right? Why have I spent the better part of the day swearing at my computer and kicking the furniture? Beats me.
I can’t blame hormones, either — I don’t have them anymore. I’m just full-on cranky and peevish and surly for no good reason. Wait, is there such a thing as a colicky grown-up? That would explain the irritability and whining. Yeah, good, I’ll go with that.