I am so angry I feel like I could levitate. It’s not one thing. It’s a million tiny things. But I’m fucking angry. Full of rage. I want to burn things down and make people bleed.

I have barely shouted and it has been entirely of the “STOP RUNNING THAT SHOPPING CART INTO MY ANKLES!!!!” variety so I don’t feel that bad. They did it literally seven times. I was so fucking pissed.

But I’m angry. Angry. Burn it down angry.

I am not entirely sure why. Part of it is anger over a social gaffe of my own. I was a complete asshole to someone who didn’t deserve it. I never like myself much after that. I don’t feel bad if I’m an asshole to an asshole. I feel bad when I kick puppies.

But that isn’t all of it.

I’m scared. I’m angry and scared. I’m trying new things and I am risking rejection and that is very hard for me. I want to show people why they should reject me out of hand. I want to test everyone and scare them and make them put up big boundaries to keep themselves safe from me because I am a bad person.

I’m scared. I’m angry but I’m more scared. I’m also having some issues with entitlement. My kids aren’t doing the basics of picking up after themselves this week. I don’t know what is up.

Shanna. Oh my goodness Shanna. I went into her play room with a box and I picked up allllllllllll the dress up clothes on the floor. Shanna quickly turned and shoved Calli and said, “If she is coming in here to pick up our toys to donate them to someone else so we don’t have to clean them up anymore–say thank you.” Then they both chorused, “Thank you.”

I…

Jeebus. What do I do with that. I wanted to snarl. I didn’t. Self control I haz it.

But I have taken a large number of toys out of their play room and put them in boxes in the pantry. Out of sight, out of mind. Please, Universe–stop giving my kids toys. We are full and over flowing and our blessing far exceed our ability to cope with them. No more toys for a few years, ok?

P.S. Books are ok.

Oh my goodness. I’m clearly having feelings. I’ve bought books recently. I’m not going to admit how much I’ve spent. I’ll have to fess up at the end of the year and you can bloody well wait till then.

I’m very excited. I uhh went online and found the entire Tamora Pierce collection. Oh yes, I did. I am very excited. I have already been pissy more than once that I gave the books back to my friend as quickly as I did because there are particular books I want to reread.

I also bought new because I am the kind of rich piece of shit who should be supporting authors. Damnit.

But uhm, eek.

I need to start selling books I write. Like, to the person who emailed me and requested a way to buy a book I have already written. Eek. Ok. Thankfully, Noah says I will have a sales page up very soon. Which blows my mind.

My life is good. I don’t know why I am so angry. Entitlement? I don’t feel “triggered” other than feeling habitually disrespected by the kids this week.

I have serious fucking issues around cleaning. I’m so sorry, kids. You must keep common space reasonably picked up or I’m just not all that nice. If your room is a mess I can keep my mouth shut. The living room being impossible to walk across…just fucking no. That’s god damn rude.

Ok. Must go pay attention to people here. Don’t really want to. Life doesn’t always give me what I want.