I am thinking it's the lack of sufficient progesterone that's been setting me off lately.
Oh, I didn't tell you? That's my latest self-diagnosis.
I read somewhere low progesterone comes with a healthy dose of moodiness. That's a nice way of saying anxiety/depression/PMS.
I'm not anxious or depressed. Volatile might be a good word.
I was cooking dinner last night and tossed a bowl of chopped-up veggies into a pan that had hot olive oil in it, and of course the oil splashed up and burned the shit out of my arm. I jerked, and a bunch of vegetables went flying.
Which is when my universe collapsed. Makes sense, right?
Thankfully I was alone, or the ugly display that resulted could have been very embarrassing.
I am a calm person, truly. Normally a few vegetables on the floor and a burn on my arm would piss me off mildly, but at that moment it was a calamity of unreasonable proportion.
Why, God? Why did the vegetables fall on the floor? Why does my arm have to be burned? Owww it hurrrrrts! Now I have to pick up the vegetables, *sob*. Oh, God, the floor is filthy. Why, God? Why must I suffer so with such dingy linoleum??
Even as I lamented my plight, I realized the ridiculousness of it. You'd better pull yourself together, I said out loud. Fuck you, I responded to myself. *sob* What a world.
We are better today.
Although the cat did leave a poo-poo-dingleberry on the kitchen floor this morning and then, not five minutes later, barfed on the floor about a foot away from where the recently cleaned-up dingleberry had been. And as expected, the linoleum is still disgusting, as evidenced by the filthy paper towels I held up after squirting cleanser on the floor and wiping it up.
And yet, my world did not implode. Fascinating.