No Pocket Protector

I am grumpy.

I am dressed like

a 1980’s TV nerd

today.

White socks,

tan khakis,

black shoes,

black belt,

short sleeve

button down shirt.

Black rimmed eye-glasses.

I only noticed my outfit just now

and it seems hysterical,

and yet a laugh hasn’t

broken through my

exceedingly grumpy

visage.

I’m scowling.

I hate humidity.

I hate being too warm.

I hate being too warm,

and hungry.

My forehead is furrowed

and I’m sure there are

anger lines creased across it.

I’m uncomfortable.

I’m anxious.  

For no logical or discernible

reason, or at least, nothing that

I can explain in a way that anyone

else can understand.  It’s exhausting.

It’s boring.  It’s annoying.  It’s crazy.

So I’m grumpy,

like a nerdy teenager,

that’s too warm,

waiting for the hammer

to drop in the form of

Buddy Repperton or some other

Stephen King-Esque  horror

novel bully.  

Nervously grumpy.