Metaphorical clouds moving in

It's probably TMI, but I think I'm pmsing. I'm angry. Just angry and things have been too hard today.

Once again I looked at how to get a business license since we've said we were going to do it for the past 2 weekends but didn't. So, I opened the websites (honestly, why must you register a business in 7 different offices?), and stared at them hoping one of the English words would make sense. Then I got depressed that the only thing written there that is actual English is "contact a lawyer." Well, lawyers have always been scum sucking low life criminal demons whenever I've had the misfortune of needing to seek legal advice, and they've never helped me before so why would now be any different?

So then there was a 30 minute period of intermittently being angry at how our society has over complicated every aspect of life, and anger at myself for being so fucking stupid I can't even figure out the simplest of tasks.

Probably not the best of ideas to then follow that up with looking at the files Steve gave me that are apparently what our website is built from. I tried to open one and it just said, "No, you can't do that." Yes, computer file, you are so right. I cannot fathom how to update a website. People keep telling me how insanely easy it is, "It's just dragging and dropping or copying the files across.  Anyone can do it!" Huh, anyone but idiots apparently. 'Cause I don't get it.

That was followed by another 30 minutes of berating everything in our society, but most especially myself.

Onto something I can do because I've been doing it a lot: braiding. Yes, that fun little thing we used to do as little girls has become the only thing I'm any good at. Except I got to the end of the necklace I was making for Steve, my hand cramping, my wrist swollen, only to discover that I fucked that up, too. I had to dismantle the whole thing, and I'll have to try again. Not tonight, though, my wrist is in a lot of pain.

Then I spent the entire ride home from picking my son up from school trying to get him to answer a simple question: "Have they given you your school planner yet?" I didn't think it was a complicated or trick question, but apparently to him it's the equivalent of asking him to explain string theory!

Oh, but he's not in art anymore. He's now doing theater. He doesn't know why, they didn't say, just is. I have a sinking feeling it has something to do with my email to the art teacher yesterday. I found a piece of paper from her saying that if any parents would like to share their artistic knowledge with the class, she wants to know because she loves to "[expose the students] to many different artists' styles and passions through special guest visitors." I don't believe in coincidence, so it sucks. Big time.

I don't have a one thing today. I'm tired, I'm hurting, and I'm pissed off. I'm going to enjoy my Laproaig and watch people get hurt on World's Dumbest before dinner.