a warm chocolate donut

one of my friends at work was gifted with a chocolate-covered glazed donut from a local bakery – fresh this morning. she heated it in the microwave for a few seconds then brought me half of it.

you know in the simpsons how homer gets when you put a donut or a hamburger or a beer in front of him – how his mouth drops open, he drools profusely, and makes this Neanderthal groaning sound? that was me about five minutes ago. somehow my oatmeal doesn’t seem quite as appetizing. but i’m in a much better mood.

rough night. squeezed every last drop of patience, tolerance, and diplomacy out of my exhausted soul to prevent a gigantic meltdown. and somehow found a few drops left after that.

am trying hard not to see skipper as an enemy, as just another person who happens to have some really annoying infuriating behaviors, but it’s difficult. he does present some competition for resources – mostly the resource of personal space. space, i know, is an illusion, just as most of the things we crave and cling to are. but i cling anyway, and the mess on top of my dresser is precious to me precisely because it’s mine. it’s too high for duckie to reach or even be much aware of now. the chaotic aggregation of blush and bronzer, hair defrizzer, essential oils, five flavors of pillow mist, and a cluster of beaded jewelry that i can’t wear to work would make the men i live with recoil in horror. so there’s one spot of 3 x 4 foot space that no one else bothers with – but that’s about it.

yesterday i tried to write down skip’s behaviors that make me nuts, and figure out why i react so poorly to them. one such analysis was actually pretty fruitful. he has a habit of standing in front of the television – not always blocking it, but almost always with his back to the rest of the room and anyone else in it. this sends a very strong signal to me – hey, you’re not important enough for me to be open to conversation or eye contact. and if you want to speak to me, you’re going to have to yell.

so at some point i will have to gently suggest that when he spends time in the living room, he does so in a manner that doesn’t dismiss the rest of the people in it – his granddaughter included.

*sigh*

thank god for chocolate. and wine. and sting and mozart. and the way my daughter curls up in my arms at night and whispers “mommie,” right before she falls asleep.