Vaguely Discontented

I don't often blog about my mood, not directly anyway. I think it's pretty clear from the tone of the entries that it varies from psychotic anger to bemused detachment. Still, at the moment I just feel disturbed--querulous, carping, crabby, and generally unkind--but I'm not quite sure what's getting on my nerves. Things in general are going reasonably well--not perfectly, but not unusually imperfectly. The new novella is reading better than I thought it would, the car's okay, and my digestive system is in order. I have to get my dryer fixed, which will cost some money, but that's far less annoying than the squeaking noise that my dryer is making right now. The Raiders are playing poorly, but that's not news either. Indeed, I've already started rooting for the Colts and Bucs, just so I can keep my head in the season.

I'll deal with it. I've got a book to revise and a play to write. I probably haven't been working hard enough. Yeah, that's probably it. When I don't push myself at work I start driving myself crazy. It's shoulder to the wheel time again.