Greetings and Fumigations

Today is not a good day. First I have domestic tensions, which does nothing for my closet temper (any show of displeasure is unacceptable, hence all anger and resentment must be concealed at all times, resulting in a very angry, very repressed Daffy). For added fun, I have full-on PMS-induced impatience, angst and greatly shortened fuse.

And the finishing touch - a freelance job that's driving me a little batty. No matter that it's a subject matter and writing style that's new to me, I can usually handle new things well enough. But after four loooooooooong meetings and dozens of comments and revisions later, I'm getting just a tad tired. Sure, I've handled finicky clients before, but not quite like this. Yesterday, I sat through a long meeting with one of them and received comments on my first draft, which pretty much resulted in my having to re-write most of it, which isn't really anything unusual. And then, I check my email today, and found emails from five other people who, upon being forwarded the draft, decided to send their own sets of comments. AND I'm supposed to call another person tomorrow for HIS input. Suffice to say, it'd be a challenge to fit all the differing comments and suggestions. 4,800 words suddenly seems very tight for all the extra content requested.

Calling poor Kelvin didn't help either. Patience is no longer hanging on by a very thin thread - it has snapped off and is whirling around the vortex at winds up to 200mph. The worst thing about having PMS is that I often end up snapping at people who try to help by offering solutions, when all I want is someone I can just bitch to without having to answer to all their questions and suggestions and defend my thoughts. Hence, with each new suggestion he made about what I should do, I only got more and more impatient and angry, and even angrier that I couldn't show that I was angry because he meant well. By the time I was done holding my tongue as fast as I could (and it wasn't very fast), I reckon he was a little upset and I was fuming worse than ever.

At this point in time, I'm feeling positively homicidal. Did I mention I'm having PMS? And that there's absolutely no chocolate in the house? Going out for apple cinnamon prata with ice cream topped on doesn't sound bad at all...except that it's raining. Again.

And I have work to do.

Any masochists out there offering their services right now? I need to vent...