Cranky, Tired, Fat and probably Pregnant

As those famous silage men would say ‘This summer has been wetter than a soggy vagina’.

I live for the light living of summer but this year my body feels like it has been in a year long winter.

I’m cranky, tired, fat and about ninety per cent sure that I’m pregnant (This may be next Immaculate Conception). 

Usually in the summer months I am jumping out of bed, full of beans from morning to free and easy nights with girlfriends (or even some summer loving (if I’m lucky)).

But at the moment I’m like an antichrist. In the mornings I have an arguement with everything from a hanger in my wardrobe to my missing shoe.  My first thought is ‘Are you fucking joking me? Another day.’   I’m thinking this usually about half an hour after my alarm ringing its annoying shitty tune and I admit the end of my love affair with the duvet at the precise time that I should be in the car at the Bandon Roundabout.

This morning I screamed at my poor unfortunate family who get the brunt of my temper ( I figure they will still talk to me tomorrow regardless of what I say to them – you’ve got to love unconditional love)  ‘Will someone please take Babes to the fucking Vet- I fucking told you Sunday that I don’t have fucking time this week – it would be nice if somebody fucking gave me a hand now and again with things’ (for anyone wondering, Babes is the cat) then I furiously bang the door which is the daily morning signal to my family that I'm gone and they can relax ( they are a little scared of me)

It’s quarter past eight and I have already reached my curse limit for one day.

I leave home without my caffeine drug and an empty stomach which feels anything but empty this summer.

I previously wrote a blog post about loving my body – and I do.  I’m passionate about women loving the way they look because I don’t buy the bullshit of wanting to look like a skinny cocktail sausage stick.  But can I ask if anyone else is feeling heavy and bloated this summer? I’m blaming the weather though it has crossed my mind that I might be five months pregnant because despite jogging and more or less eating the same way I always did – I feel heavy.

When I’m driving to work I like to tell a pothole or two what fucking dickheads they are and have little conversations with other drivers and they go a little like this;

“Don’t you mind me at all, I know it would only have taken you a second to let me go but no no you continue on ignoring me and my thirteen year old car, your life must be so fucking important that you can’t stop for a second to let me go.’

It’s a miracle that I get to work at all without crashing, I have a strange habit of dropping my Staff ID Card or my laptop as I wrestle out of the car and once I get into the office my facade changes immediately. I’m a different Michelle – I’m happy, nice and goofy ( I figure that my colleagues don’t love me unconditionally like my family so I take the crankiness down a few levels).

The first words out of my mouth is ‘Girls let’s do coffee’ and my last rage of the day is internally beating up all the slow coaches who like to have a conversation at the coffee machine and I’m screaming in my mind ‘Move along people.’

One sip of coffee and I feel like a human being again until later in the day when I feel like I need an overdose of Berocca.

What is it with this summer? I actually thought I had some aliment until I realised everyone else is as tired, cranky, fat and pregnant ( well I might be the only one pregnant).

I do need a holiday before I actually snap or throw a computer at someone.

My mother kindly informed me last week how I’m going to burn myself out – as most of you might know I never stop working , as soon as my day-time job is done I bounce right into the nightshift of writing, blogging and taking over the world like Pinky and the Brain

I just want the sun to shine, I’m a happy go lucky type of person but the weather is literally killing me.  Surely someone in Met Eireann can do something or maybe we could get a government grant for being forced to live in such wintery conditions.

The only signal that it is actually summer is that the rain is a little warmer.

This evening I heard the birds gathering in preparation for their long flight off to warmer climates and I thought ‘ even the fucking birds are fucking off out of  here early – they must be as sick shit of weather as the Silage lads’.

They say seasons don’t necessarily follow chronological order so I’m just praying to whichever goddess is in charge of the weather around here that out Autumn may end up being our summer.