Tuesday, 26 February 2013

this does not contain momentous news

I have no patience.  Today’s auction has not happened yet and I am deteriorating into a sniffy, rageous, scatterbrain.

It’s not like I didn’t see this coming, but I truly believed I’d worked harder on curbing my psychotic tendencies in the lead up to this auction.  I arranged to have a reasonable discussion about numbers with P last night in a public place over a glass of pinot noir so that I couldn’t get huffy.  To be fair though, this was also because when you have houseguests in an apartment that is approx. 60m2, you can’t really have a discussion about private matters.  P and I are not at our best last thing at night, whispering under the covers (plus, I prefer sweet nothings for that type of whisper, rather than “What if Interest Rates Go Up?”  Please do let me know if you are aware of any examples of interest rate type conversation that lead to wild, carefree relations – in fact, having houseguests in such close proximity means that interest rate discussions are the closest we’re basically getting to even sedate, constrained relations. This is, no doubt, increasing the huffiness and up-tightness experienced by the A+P household at present). 

But it is the waiting game that really makes these conversations so loaded.  We have plenty of evidence that I’m terrible at waiting when expecting something.  I just started drafting examples for your edification, but it’s actually just so horrible I can’t bring myself to publicise it.  I certainly can’t find a way to make it even remotely funny; it’s a character flaw entirely without merit that I generally choose to ignore.  (See also: wilful ignorance in the veritable pantheon of flaws that make up my extremely complex persona.  Also, an inability to refrain from referencing P+P.  Blame Austen.)

In sum, today I am prickly, nervous and short with basically everyone.  Surely I will get better at this with practice? 

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