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Today has been a standard sort of day. I was in productive-content mode. I baked cinnamon oatmeal cookies, and some of those pre-fab chocolate chip cookies that are now in a break-apart brick instead of a tube. I grocery shopped, I paid some bills, played with the cat, and lounged around watching the Tina Turner story on VH1. While I was watching Tina talk about Phil Spector, the boyfriend called. This was around 6:00 pm.

"I have study group at 8:00, and I wanted to see you before then."

I tell him I'm watching Tina Turner, and I baked cookies. I tell him I'll take a shower and come on over. The transformation started in the shower. I became instantly lethargic, wanting to not really wash, but just to stand there and let the water beat down on my head. I wanted to shave my legs, but my razor was out on the sink, past my reach. My attitude was slipping away, washing down the drain with the inevitable run off of red hair dye. I opted not to wash my hair, and I got out of the shower. I dried off and put some lotion on my hairy, itchy legs, and put on clothes. The jeans I picked out had been sitting around for at least a year, unworn. I put them on, they are too tight, and they are shorter. Did I get taller? No. Attitude is squeezed further away through these fucking pants. My hair looks frizzy and stupid, and I still have cookie dishes in the sink. I will have to wash them, I remind myself, before I leave.

I am positively seething as I wash the dishes. I have no good reason for this. I have descended completely into uncontrollably moody shit mode, and I know that I would be better off just staying home at this point. I am past ration, so I go to his house.

We go into the living room and sit down, and I lean up against him. He starts poking me and tickling me, and I am not responding nicely at all. He asks me what's wrong. I yell at him,
"Every time I come over your house, fucking anime is on the TV!"
He looks at me like I am possessed. I am. I hunker down and shut up and lay with my head on his lap. I am being a shit, and I am fully aware of it. Somehow I can't find the words to explain to him that it is simply appropriate for me to be a pain in the ass right now. Time passes, and he gets up to leave for his study group. I'm just pissed off at nothing, and it's not going to stop until something happens. Maybe I need to eat some of those cookies. I apologize to him for being a shit and tell him I'm PMS. Or I'm on my period, maybe, I don't know. I haven't checked. He makes me laugh, it makes him happy, and I go home.

I'm still being a shit, though.

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