Shitty

That's how I've been feeling. Kind of run down. Premenstrual, if you will. Perpetually annoyed and unable to see the silver lining. Like yesterday, when I had both kids at swim lessons, and I was looking around the pool for a spot where I could get in with my daughter so she doesn't willy nilly hurl herself into the pool out of pure frustration at having been too young to take lessons, I see the hottie lifeguard guy walking around the pool perimeter assessing what turns out to be a code PIP situation. Poop in Pool. Out comes the pool net. Out comes the poop. And five minutes into their lesson, out come the kids. Lesson over. Pool closed. And I'm asking about make-up classes or refunds and the teenagers who are running the pool are answering me in that teenage tone that makes you want to strangle them even though they are tanned and don't have cellulite. Um? Our manager? Um, she's on vacation? Until tomorrow? So we'll tell her what happened? But there probably won't be a make-up?

You didn't think I meant shitty in the literal sense. I did. Yes, actual shit. Not even a floatie. A sinker.

But was I grateful that at least my daughter and I had not made it into the infested pool? Nope. Was I grateful that hottie pool guy had the good sense to get everyone out before an outbreak of E. Coli started? No, frankly. I wanted my kid to have his lesson. That E. Coli didn't have a chance in hell with the way they chlorinate the public pools...

So that's where I'm at. Shitty. But tonight I have a night off and I'm sitting in Cafe Roma in Berkeley typing on my laptop, gradually feeling a shift in attitude. Deep breath in...