It’s been one of those weeks.

It’s only Tuesday, and I’m already bone tired, my demeanor is dour, and my temper? Let’s just say it’s not one of my more sedate attributes these days. I had a great weekend – reconnected with friends tried and true, celebrated marriages and engagements with copious amounts of margaritas, and my Sunday? Well, it was the perfect end to a great weekend.

So, I began this week optimistically. Got a recognition award at work (which included a nice little “gratitude” stipend), have an exciting weekend ahead, and all I had to do to get there is make it through five days of work. Easy, right?

Wrong.

I had a bad meeting. Actually, a few bad meetings. My workload is beyond ridiculous, there’s no end (or help) in sight, and while I usually like – if not love – my job, I find myself short-tempered, long-houred and much-complained. I’m certainly not at my best.

Which is a shame, it really is. Things are good – great, in fact – in so many other aspects of my life, so that when things are sucking piles of ass (I can’t really think of a more delicate, yet accurate, descriptor) and my stress level is broaching upon extreme, I can’t really enjoy the happiness that comes with a clean house, a cat that’s finally lost a few pounds, a reorganized kitchen and an adorable boy who makes me laugh on a daily basis. Because that, my friends, is what I want to concentrate on.