Caution: I bite.

I haven’t been ignoring this blog. I’ve been busy. And mad. Very very mad.

Why mad? Anger is my native tongue. Angry parents raised me so it’s the emotion I’m the most comfortable with. Sad? Just wait a few minutes and it turns to anger. Tired? Not for long… Scared = anger too. No matter what emotion a situation begets, it inevitably morphs into anger. Actually, more than anger… I feel pure, unadulterated meanness. Take the last week for example:

• Friday: When I come home, there’s a note on our door. They’re selling our apartment building and are having an open house for realtors the next day. Great. Now I’ve got strangers traipsing through my house while I’m at work. Jerks. I hate ‘em all. I leave a strongly worded note on our door warning them not to let our cat out.

• Saturday: I normally don’t work on Saturdays, but today, in preparation for an upcoming trip, I’ve scheduled three clients. Even though I know I’ve got the next three days off, I’m cranky and pissed off. Besides, when I get home I have to pack, a task I hate. I call a friend to complain.

• Sunday: I fly to the east coast to meet my husband where he’s been at a conference all week. He’s been offered a job there and we’re supposed to spend the next two days getting wined and dined and showed around by realtors. Of course, the fact that this is a free trip is not enough to make me ignore the incredible inconvenience and pain that is air travel. I resent every minute of it. By the time I land it’s too late to get dinner at the hotel. I’m ready to murder someone until my husband takes me out for late-night sushi. It’s pretty good. Can’t complain about good sushi. Still, the ikura tasted a little different… maybe I’ll get food poisoning and die. Grrr.

• Monday (morning): Why. Must. I. Get. Up? Jet. Lag. Bites. The horror.

• Monday (later): I don’t like the first few houses the realtor shows us. Finally, there’s a few I do like but they’ll be off the market by the time we’re ready to buy. I become certain we’ll never find a good house. They’ll only be cruddy, dirty houses that need a lot of work. We’ll be too lazy or poor to remodel so we’ll be the ugly house on the block. My life will suck. That night we have dinner with some of my husband’s colleagues. They talk too much so they must suck too.

• Tuesday: I have lunch with the daughter of my parents’ best friends. I’ve known her for decades but today, I’m certain she’s judging me. I feel awkward and fat and obviously crazy. This is all her fault. Bitch.

• Wednesday: It is early in the morning AND I’m back on a plane. I’m so mad at the world I’m almost homicidal. The man in the seat in front of me is kissing his wife, repeatedly. They keep talking about how much fun they’re going to have on their vacation to San Francisco. PDA and visible happiness. How DARE he. I start fantasizing about punching him in the head. Hard. I want to do it so badly I worry I wouldn't be able to stop myself.

• Thursday: Halfway through my appointment with my psychiatrist, he asks me if I’m excited to be moving. Excited? EXCITED? What!!?? He can’t be serious. Why doesn’t he want to hear how I REALLY feel about this whole process? I spend all day, every day, telling everyone how "excited" I am about all our upcoming changes, only talking about the bright side of things. At the same time, my head is filling up with all these worries, regrets and disappointments about the future. When I talk to him, I want to express how I really feel - not just repeat the platitudes I tell my parents, my friends, my colleagues, and random real estate agents. I leave the appointment early, in a serious huff.

• Today, Friday: My husband learns that he’s not going to be offered the job in southern CA. Fine. Whatever. Wasn’t sure we wanted to move there anyway. Still, when we find out who they’re offering the job to… I'm pissed. It’s the same chick who’s beat out my husband for two other jobs. I ask my husband if we can have her killed. He thinks I’m kidding but I’m just wondering how we could avoid being caught.

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What’s really going on? I am scared and sad to be moving. I've worked hard to make the life I have right now and I don't look forward to starting all over from scratch. In the 11 years that my husband and I have been together, we will have moved to six different towns and seven different apartments. Maybe when we know where we’re moving I can plan and get excited. Right now, I’ll just get angry.