Garscon! Some cheese with my whine please!

I'm exhausted.

And I have only myself to blame. Last night, my DH decided he wanted to go out to eat. He was happy and wanted to celebrate, and honestly, what better way to celebrate than to eat? Enter the whine... Now, I work late and I had a term paper to finish. How in hell did I finish the first Master's? I told DH about my workload, but he wanted so much to go out. I figured I could lose an hour and still get to bed by midnight.

Yeah. How 'bout no! I lost three prime hours of study time. THREE frikken hours! And then DH said he was tired. Those of you who've met me know I'm a little bit crazy. When we're having a good time, crazy translates to fun. When I get angry, I'm a true nutbag. I snap. My head spins and DH swears I speak foreign languages. Well, I spoke Greek last night, boy. Little ears were around so I wasn't speaking advanced Greek, but DH got an earful.

Then I got to go downstairs and work on my paper. And that is the extent of my writing for the last two weeks. I've thought about my books and I even think I know who my murderer is and who's the victim. That excites me so much I may forgo an hour or two of sleep just to get those scenes down. Then again, maybe not.

What do you do when Mr. or Ms. Jekyll pays a visit? Maybe the better question is what do your loved ones do? I got my murderer out of it, so maybe I should thank my husband for taking me to crazy town. Can you write angry?