Sometimes I Am A Real Bitch

I've been on edge the last week or two. Not sleeping well, drinking too much and feeling crabby and snappish far too much of the time. You'd think I was quitting smoking (again), but that sure as hell ain't it.

I think there are a number of causes. Tight finances and the dramatic change in my life being the prime tension-producing suspects, along with smaller issues.

Anyway, my inate tendency to provide unrequested "advice" (read: lectures) has been impossible to completely curtail. And, of course, Laura has taken the bulk of my "charms".

This morning, we found ourselves hitting the grocery store together, for the first time since she moved in with me. And I kept harrassing her about the masses of crap she was buying. She finally turned around and pointed at the cart, asking me to point out just what was so terrible about her choices.

I stopped mid-rant and did as she requested. One (one) bag of chips. One (one) small bag of candy. One (one) box of President's Choice mac and cheese.

Er, that was it.

I mumbled an apology and she offered me a forgiving hug.

She's a rock, that girl, a fucking solid-gold rock. I am a very lucky boy.