Hormones or the Hump?

How do I know if it's my hormones acting up, being stir crazy or genuine angst at things not being the way they are when I'm in control? I feel incredibly guilty. I've had a bit of a teary hormonal, breakdowny night tonight. Not sure whether it was Clare's spilling nail polish remover all over the sealed slate floor which has turned my nice black South African into white and toothpastey splotches or Adam freaking out big time about the big Emergenza final tomorrow and my guilt at not being able to attend the big night and planning being totally wasted until Tuesday which means his room will remain in the rodent attracting state it has been in for the past FIVE WEEKS. Maybe it's his turning 21 on Tuesday and my realisation that I can't bully him into submission any more and if he wants to sleep in dirty sheets he can or just hormones kicking in because I've felt so well over the past week maybe my pituitary gland has finally realised that my ovaries are in a bin somwhere and is having a wobbly, or maybe just the denial of simple freedoms such as driving. I am FIERCLEY independent and not having my usual freedoms is killing me. (It's week one of a four week driving moratorium) I am not within an easy walk of the shops so I miss my independence big time.

Anyway, I feel guilty that my car ignition has broken and will cost about $1000 to repair - hardly worth it considering the 15 year old Accord is only worth abou $2,000 anyway so even if I wanted to break the curfew, I aint going anywhere! I feel enormous guilt that I haven't done the usual pre-Christmas maintenance, guilt that I haven't yet bought my Christmas cards and I only send them to people I don't usually see much of so they need to be out by now. Guilt that I only have $80 in the bank until the 15th but just spent $1100 on a new camera . . . fuck I only have two pairs of shoes and some rubber thongs . . .I am not a clothes horse, I drive a 15 year old car . . . surely I can spend a little on my self without being wracked with guilt. Then I'm just bloody angry at kids who are so chilled at the prospect of housework and linen changing . . . "Ahh relax mum, I'll do it Tuesday . . ." or "don't worry, I changed my sheets last month". All well and good but I'm going commando because no washing's been done! (actually I don't mind it too much, feral suits me) But really, is this important? . . I'm happy for them to stew in their own filth as long as they don't bring MY standards down. It's my house, It's my environment, my mortgage and I insist that all but their festy little boudoir's are clean, sweet smelling, vacuumed and dusted once a week . . . I have standards!

Then, I'll have another cry . . top up my glass and probably sleep like a baby. I think I need someone to make love to me like a thrashing machine or to take out my angst on a punching bag. Thommo's taking me to the growers market tomorrow so I can wreak vengence on large vegetables and feel guilty about eating an organic egg and bacon roll!