If you can't say something nice...

...please don't sit by me (passim. Dorothy Parker).

I've been extraordinarily restive and cranky all day today, since reading the local paper's front page this morning at work. I don't want to go into it--I've been avoiding going into it here for several weeks (months) (years). The whole situation has been roiling just under the surface for nearly a decade, and recent events have caused the boil to finally be lanced. Suffice to say that I don't like the theory of going to court whether it's personally or as a corporate body. That's one side of my brain. The other side of my brain is pissed . Or, beyond that, I'm

P I S S E D!!

For a multitude of reasons, that's very unhelpful, and I don't like trying to suppress, or at least manage, this feeling, and be adult and mature. It's extemely fortunate that I haven't actually run across any of the people involved or it would really really really hard to keep from literally run across and over them multiple times. The one time I did spend time in their presence, sorta, I managed to greet them with a "Hi. What a lovely day, isn't it? Happy Easter!" and sound passably cheery.

This "taking the High Road" shit is just no fun at all. Being this angry is not good for me (I know, Molly, I know), but I'm determined--and STUBBORN--enough to not be slugging it out in the mud.

All I can say is that Loch Lomond better freakin' be worth it, even if I get there last.