I am grumpy. Things are not going as I would wish, and I don’t get to just make everything work. I cannot make people be nice to my friends, I cannot forcibly change people’s minds, and I am grumpy.
My twelve-year-old is also grumpy. She spent a couple nights at a friend’s, staying up way late and living on caffeine and sugar, and now she doesn’t feel well. Which is just too bad as we have things that need to be done today and she doesn’t get to take her grump out on everyone.
Sadly, neither do I. I’m a grown-up, and though (in my opinion) my grumpiness stems from better reasons than lack of foresight, I must behave like a grown-up.
Sigh.
There’s a part of me that’s very amused by this. That part is wondering just when I became a grown-up. So what if I’m over forty? I’ve been pretending at adulthood (some times better than others) for twenty years, but it’s not true. So why not, just this once, maybe let the act slip?
But no. This is what I must get through my child’s head. We all have a responsibility not to take our issues out on everyone else. Which…is kind of a definition of adulthood, isn’t it?
Damn.
Okay, maybe I am a grown-up. Just don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.
*hugs* Your secret’s safe with me! I hope all the grumpiness has no reason to exist Very Soon. *hugs again*
Thanks, Bea. 🙂
Ooh, naps! Good thinking, Patricia. I’ve been doing the pouting, but I missed napping. Also, eating ice cream.
Grumpy days are evil. I tend to spend the time pouting and napping. Naps make everything better. (Heh, that doesn’t sound too adult-like either so I think you have no worries about being a grown up because apparently, us writers have no idea how to be grown-up)