I’ve been terrifically bitchy of late.

I ruminate on this tidbit as I sit at the bar of the Outpost–Kimpton’s restaurant at the perfectly charming Goodland hotel in Goleta, CA.  My sneering maw is stuffed full of mini pork bao buns and a bowlful of gorgeous roasted hot peppers as I silently bemoan all those things classified in the universal category of “work crap.”  “Woe is me,” I mutter into my glass of California pinot noir, the name of which escapes me because I was too busy ramming peppers down my piehole to pay attention to the barkeep’s pronouncement of the appellation.  I shake my head in frustration that my workday started at 6 AM and my laptop closed for the night at 9 PM.  Indignancy towers like the majestic mountains that rise outside the doors of my hotel (they’d rise outside my hotel window too if I hadn’t been upgraded to a queen with a pool view).

I jest, but there is truth in all of this.  I have been a major pain in the ass lately to my loved ones–overworked, moody, tired, and chubby due to a lack of time to exercise like I used to, which as you may concur with a nod of your head further exacerbates the whole mood bit.  Three months ago, I switched jobs, and now all of Hades is unleashing from a corporate perspective, keeping me logging long hours and much more time away from home than I care to spend on a daily basis.  Sorry, Home Office–Mommy’s Sweetheart is way cooler than the water cooler.

To boot, I’ve not had the time nor the inclination to write, as you’ll see based on the time stamp of my last post.  This is a shame too, especially because I’ve recently received an EXcellent critique of Overture from MEF.  I’d offer the name of my wonderful editor, but if I did, someone would take her, and she’s mine!  All mine!

Then I was set straight by a rectal abscess. Yes, that.  My dear friend Rhoda (I kinda like that fake name choice, don’t you?) just became a mom.  She has a beautiful new daughter at home, healthy and wonderful, and I couldn’t be happier for her and her husband, Sparky.  But she also has a rectal abscess.  Less than two weeks after having a c-section, she was back at the doctor’s office to have lanced a painful infection caused by her Crohn’s Disease.

Now think about this for a minute.  Other new parents of healthy kids suffer from lack of sleep, exhaustion, pain from a healing incision, and the climactic change of going from a couple to a couple of parents literally overnight.  For Rhoda, however, there’s not a peep about any of that.  Hell, there’s barely a peep about the abscess that hurts her when she walks, sits, or otherwise moves, and that she may have to have surgically drained in a couple of weeks.  Rhoda is a rock star.  Rhoda defines fortitude, fuerteza.  And in comparison, I have very little about which to pitch a bitch.

So I won’t.  Screw the work drama.  Screw the missed family time. Screw the nonexistent exercise regimen, the empty pages, and the laundry list of crappy lunches and dinners.  I can choose to choose the good stuff, because thankfully, it’s all within my power to do.  And I’ll start right now.  I’m putting this perspective into practice when I get home, but for now I’m going to drink my wine in front of this fire pit, publish this blog, and just savor the hell out of even the spiciest pepper.  I hope Rhoda can join me soon.