Untitled Misery

I've been lounging around at home, drifting in and out of blissful sleep on the couch while harshly-lit soap operas played out their scripted dramatics on the TV glowering in front of me. Finally getting up, I wonder if I should get something to eat, but decide against it as the lunch i have just had with an old friend who's just come over to Melbourne was heavy and after all, I haven't done any exercise since then. Running through the usual routine of checking my mail, then my friend's blogs, I decide to finally make a new post in my blog; I don't want people getting tired of visiting only to be faced with old thoughts, old memories pasted against a depressing black background. I wonder if I should change that background, I wonder if a black one is a little too depressing. Then again, my posts have never been particularly happy.

How is it that one simple little action can ruin a whole day?

I think I might be experiencing early pms. I've never understood what mood swings are, always taken the words for their literal value - a swing, something physical and radical, accompanied by the swishing of the wind against your skin as you fly from one place to another, your feet above the ground. But that is not what mood swings are. They can be deceptively gradual, they can sneak up on you like a shadow, engulf you, take over and turn you into something ugly in a heartbeat. And for no good reason. It might be something as simple as the clang of a used fork into the sink. The crudeness of the sound, the annoyance - why dont you just wash it, it's not that hard - blossoms from a twinge into a tidal wave, I recall so many instances where I have had to do dishes for someone else, scrub at the stove till the soap would not come off my fingers because of someone else's clumsiness, where I have had to bear responsibility when it was not my fault, and suddenly I am consumed by such bitterness that I shock myself in the aftermath.

People have masks they can put on and take off as needed, often at the blink of an eye, whenever the situation calls for it. It amazes, and often angers me, when someone i'm arguing with gets a phone call, and the moment she picks up, all the anger, bitterness, sarcasm, acidity that was previously dripping in her voice melts away into a cheery pleasantness, a light, airy, nothing's-wrong-the-person-i'm-arguing-with-is-nonexistent tone, which is quickly dispensed of when the phone call ends. It is an insult, pure impoliteness, something which implies that someone can pretend and be happy for someone else, but not for you.

I apologize that my posts of late have not been happy, or particularly entertaining. I sincerely wish I had some form of cheer to share with you all, but bear with me...I need some form of release.