Swimming in weird.

You just gotta love sharing the planet with all the beetle-headed humans taking up space on it. We all know that the weather is starting to get a little sloppy. A teensy bit of snow, a lot of rain and a whole lot of wind. Nothing too dramatic or alarming, at least in my book. In the last week I've been rather unfortunate in my quest for a peaceful drive to and from work. A bit disappointed, really. I've been stuck behind people who resolutely refuse to come close to the posted speed limit due to, I assume, the small and insignificant fact that there is some form of moisture falling out of the sky. It's as though their cars put a stubborn cap on their velocity as soon as the windshield wipers are engaged. I've also noticed that the same moisture seems to cause their peripheral vision to fly south for the winter. I've been cut off, swerved toward, and the victim of an attempted scraping-off. I'm not really a violent person. I'm generally too easy-going and too lazy to work up a good head of steam. Nonetheless, I've used more foul language at higher volumes in the last week than I have in a long time. I've not made any obscene gestures or anything, but I have family members who can vouch for the fact that I prefer to flip "el birdo" when I'm face to face with the recipient. So much more fun in person, don't you think? Anyway, my shouted profanity has had zero effect on the state of traffic, but it has helped me feel as though I'm not letting the ignorant bastards get away with it. I hope their ears are burning. It feels somewhat counter-productive to arrive at work, facing a full day of verbal fencing and cajolery, feeling somewhat drained, like I just survived a dangerous obstacle course rife with landmines only to find out that I still have to get to the center of the labyrinth and then do a triathlon. By the time I stash my stuff in my locker, fill up my coffee cup and find a pen I'm not interested in doing my charting or file review. I just want to take a nap. Maybe preceded by a cocktail and some chocolate. Same thing when I get home. I had to drive through hell and you still want me to cook dinner? Kiss my a$$, you turkey. Get some takeout and make with the foot massage and we'll negotiate who gets stuck doing yesterday's dishes. Of course I don't actually express these sentiments because this is real life and that's just not how it works. If it could I'd be all over it, but so would you. Admit it.

Anyway, now that I've vented my spleen (where did that stupid saying come from???) I'm off to do the dishes. And, no, they're not left over from yesterday.