Lately it's been a chore to not want to lash out at people, bite off their heads and get to the creamy center. Driving to work, I pass about a hundred opportunities to ram my car into some asshole off in his own world oblivious to the task at hand. At the grocery store, I want to take my cart and run over the toes of rude people copping attitudes just for the sake of being bitchy.

It's a chore just pretending to be nice some times.

Maybe it's the climbing temperatures. As it reaches triple digits, my tolerance for mankind goes way down. During the summer, all I want to do is sprawl out under the ceiling fan and hug a bag of ice. Perhaps that's what it is.

Perhaps not.

Methinks...no, meknows, it is all internal. The bitch within. My snatchity attitude is a direct result of me. I could look for rainbows and moonbeams, but instead I choose to ride around on that broomstick shoved up my ass and cackle at the misfortunes of others while spewing bile and venom on the annoying meat sack I encounter daily.

Okay, I'm exaggerating a wee bit. I ride around on a Dyson, not a broomstick.

(Note to Self: Blogging on an empty stomach...not a good idea. Need breakfast now.)