NaBloPoMo Part Two: February

The first time I did it was so much fun, I decided to do it again. I signed up for another month of NaBloPoMo, which simply means I committed myself to posting here every day in February, the most dreadful month of the year. I need some kind of incentive to keep my fingers to the fire or I'll fall into a Facebook and Pinterest coma until spring. The problem is my muse Dolores gets soft and lazy in the winter. She grows out her leg hair to keep warm, and snores on the other end of the couch in a Bailey's and hot chocolate-induced slumber while I wait for inspiration. ...... I can't count on the bitch. I guess I'm on my own this month.

I don't know how your week started, but I was the bitch the first two days. I have no idea why; I was such a grouch I could have kicked a puppy. I thought maybe it was because I was auditioning Monday for a character who is definitely on the crusty side--unless she gets laid every once in a while. Or maybe it was the audition itself, which was a disappointment in many ways.

But, no, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed again Tuesday. Irritable. Get the fuck out of  my way crabby. I found I was talking to myself and all I ever said was, "Oh, for fuck's sake! Really?"

I was so grouchy one of my students even noticed. Before class started, while I was logging on to my computer, which requires entering my user name and password 57 times, and refusing to accept several late papers (I don't accept late papers; read the fucking syllabus) and rolling my eyes at the many excuses for absences (I got my face pierced and it hurt so bad I couldn't come to class. What did you think would happen if you let somebody take a core of flesh out of your face and your tongue and stick metal through them?) and handing back papers that I spent more time reading than they spent writing and telling one student I don't know why he can't open his Yahoo mail where he sent his paper (and then getting his paper, the one that was supposed to be printed and handed in, by email, with a note that had no capitalization and no punctuation. What the fuck? It's a fucking English class.) ...... ...... Ummm, where was I?

Thanks for noticing.

Oh yeah. One of my students, who is apparently remarkably perceptive, said, "Are you OK today. You seem a little....?"

I said, "I'm grouchy today. I have been all day today and yesterday too. I don't know why, but I seem to be feeling a certain degree of irritation right now. How did you guess?"

She said I was twisting my hands in an unusual way. She was right. I was unconsciously wringing necks. I relaxed my hands and settled for grinding my teeth down to the gums. She warned the rest of the class, which had no perceptible impact on them at all.

The good news is, I got through both days without hurting anyone. I didn't even respond with well deserved derision to the email I got from one student's email account that was supposedly an appeal from his dad, asking if he could be excused indefinitely. Sometimes a failing grade says so much more than the immediate sarcastic reply.

I wasn't the only one. Several friends asked me if things just felt off, crazy, annoying. I took some comfort in knowing I wasn't in a foul, potentially murderous rage mood alone, although I started to fear some kind of Thelma and Louise ending.

Step off, bitch. Sarandon is mine.

In an effort to bring me out of it, one friend invited me out for lunch and pool at a new place, a clean, smoke-free place with pretty nice tables. We played pool for a couple of hours and I never once had the urge to break my cue over anybody. In fact, a friendly bald man came back to the pool room from the bar, put his arm around me and said, "I bet $5.00 on you."

"Huh?" I couldn't comprehend his words. Anyone who has ever played pool with me knows it's the cheapest date you can take me on because a game with me can last 2 hours if I'm allowed to get all my balls in. I'm terrible. Nobody would bet on me to win, except this friendly bald man.

He apologized to my friend and said, "No offense, but we've been watching and my money is on her." He hugged me, good and long. I never try to predict the behavior of the natives in a new environment. I hugged my new stalker back.

And then I lost the game. Because I suck at pool.

(This is not me. I don't wear a glove when I play pool.)

But I  still wasn't in a bad mood. In fact, even though the next thing I did was shop for clothes--something I hate--I felt almost normal. (Except for those hour-long minutes in the dressing room under the florescent lights when I looked in the mirror and saw what Cookie Monster would look like without his fur. Oh the cruelty.)

That evening I participated in a cold reading with a bunch of other actors for a playwright who wanted to hear what his new comedy sounded like read by actors. I played the part of a wealthy, slightly crazy producer who drags a stuffed (former) chihuahua around on a leash. I didn't know you could get such a thing, but I'm going to be on the lookout for one. I'll post photos when I find it, and we'll have a naming contest. I felt even more of my grouchiness receding into the distance.

I was feeling much better already and then I met..... well, crap. This is getting too long and self-reflective. I need to wrap it up ....

Before I do though, I'll just go ahead and mention that I was going to write about meeting Scott, a gorgeous bus driver commercial airline pilot and his short, bisexual Dominican Republican flight attendant friend, Benny, who kept wandering off, bless his "I'm really gay but I'm Catholic so I straddle the fence, so to speak" heart. Leaving me with Scott, has biceps as big as my calves and a six-pack that went bump, bump, bump when I ran my finger down it, and who is definitely not gay because he's from Texas and there are no gay men in Texas..... but I really should stop now (except to admit I do kinda have a thing for men who fly, no surprise there, but this one came out of nowhere, like a gift from the sky gods for my having to endure Monday and Tuesday). In any case, by the time I said good-bye to Scott, my case of the grouchies had completely dissipated.

Completely.

How about you? Any grouchies this week? Was there something in the atmosphere that was fucking with the general mood? Did you find a remedy?

Just keep flying and everything will be fine.