I think that about sums me up. I come home, I grimace at Edith (R), and all I want is to be left alone to sit in my chair (sofa) and drink my beer (soda) and watch Walter Cronkite (‘Friends’). Main difference is that I’m just as likely to put dinner on the table as Edith, and I didn’t spend all day mucking through whatever Archie mucked through. I muck through spreadsheets, and while this is indeed mucking, it is not the type of mucking that would generally be an acceptable mucking excuse for my grumpiness.

Stop saying mucking. Word’s lost all meaning.

Aside from the fact that my disorders are Seasonally Affected and that The Guy In Charge has seen fit to pee all over San Francisco for the last week & shows no signs of stopping, I really shouldn’t be grumpy. I try not to be, and manage not to be a lot of the time, but Edith still has to put up with it a little too often. Bless her for doing so & still being a generally happy person who, no matter how grumpy I am, refuses to stop talking to me.

… Those were the days.