Right here, buddy. Eyes on the Prize.

My bodyclock has suddenly decided to begin working, like clockwork no less. For the past week, I have been waking up at 6:45 AM on the dot. Wonder how and why one's biology makes the decision to do that? Either way, it has made me extremely tired by 9PM each night. In turn, being exhausted (and stressed to the max) has caused quite the unstoppable, cranky mood swings. Muscles thinks this is hilarious.

Last night, for example, I didn't get home until around 8:30/9 PM. I had a very important meeting that morning, worked all afternoon, and then went to a mind-boggling meeting for my internship that involved alot of nonsensical, theoretical professor-talk. I was one to be reckoned with, for sure. I found Muscles lying on the couch watching a basketball game, that, quite frankly, I was jealous I missed the beginning of. Our conversation went something like this:

Disclaimer: It is my belief that most women have the occasional day like this, and that we all carry around a deep shame for our actions. If you are fortunate enough to be even-keeled, please don't judge.

"Oh! Hey honey," Muscles chirps as I walk in the door.
"Hi." I say smugly. Why is HE so cheerful, I think. And why did I just answer in that tone? What's wrong with me.
Giggles ensue. Muscles gets a kick out of my PMS, clearly. This irritates the Mood Swing Monster (known in some circles simply as MSM).
"What's so funny?" MSM growls.
Muscles attempts to straighten up.k "Nothing, honey. I love you," he purrs.
This guilts me into suppressing my frenemy MSM, so I grin and bear it,
"I love you, too."

A few minutes later, I have settled into the couch next to Muscles. He comments that I have had a long, frustrating day and offers to rub my feet. Awww. At least that's what I should've been thinking. Sometimes, when sweet, sweet Muscles does this, I melt. On this day, MSM pushed those weak, mushy feelings aside. I complied, still giving Muscles the sideways look. He giggles some more.

What is he LAUGHING at?!? Clearly, I am unhappy. He is laughing because I had a bad day! My sound reasoning goes something like that. Geez. In retrospect, I sound like I should be committed, but even in the face of this monstrosity, I tell myself to calm down. I drift off into serious thought about the day's events, yada yada yada.

"Muscles?" I say tentatively, to get his attention.
He stops to pause the game, anticipating that this will be a lengthy convo. That annoys MSM a smidge, so the frenemy takes the defensive. I then proceed to ask some rhetorical question like "Do you think this would be a good career move for us as a family?", which ultimately leads into a rambling monologue listing the reasons why and why not. Guess how Muscles chooses to take part in this heartfelt discussion?

If I could draw a picture on my bloggie blog, I would. To put it lightly, he stares blankly and silently at the space beyond my head. Perhaps there was some sort of ball or shiny object there. I am unsure. Either way, the silence becomes deafening a few moments later. Has Muscles completely checked out, or has his brain suddenly fallen out onto the sofa? Mood Swing Monster, for one, is infuriated at his disrespect for our, ahem, MY personal thoughts and concerns. Can't he tell I'm trying to facilitate discussion, not give a presidential address?!?

Brace yourselves. You won't believe how the silence is broken. Muscles slowly turns his pin head towards me until his eyes come into focus on my face. Novel idea. And he says,
"I'm going to turn the game back on now. Is that ok?"

MSM goes berserk. There might have been a slew of questions spill from my mouth, including but not limited to: Did you hear what I just said? Do you not think it was important enough to warrant a response? Are you ears suddenly deafened? Did it occur to you that I'm asking you because your input matters to me? IS THE GAME MORE IMPORTANT THAN ME RIGHT NOW?

Muscles is no longer smiling. In fact, he looks frightened of his own responses. He's on the top of his game, though.
"Yes, dear. I heard you. Of course it was important, but I didn't know what you wanted me to say. No my ears are fine. [Giggle, giggle.] Oh! I thought you were just telling me about it. And NO! The game would NEVER be more important than you."
I am too exhausted to be anything other than appeased. Okay, I have a million times infinity arguments against that, but whatever.

Of course, this back-and-forth continued until I finally found Mr. Sandman around 11 PM. Then, I promptly rose at 6:45 this morning. Wonder what Muscles has done this morning to warrant my input? :)

(Of course, I'm kidding. Where and when do these hormones stop?!?)