Bitchy

“It’s daylight saving time, not some  global conspiracy against you”, I sniped to myself as I read people on Facebook whining about the inevitable time change that happened yesterday. I went on to silently assault these complainers as I scrolled through my news feed. Clearly, somebody woke up on the beyaatch side of the bed.

Bitch. Smartass. Sarcastic asshole. These are my default settings if I’m not properly adjusted when I start my day. So there I was on a beautiful Sunday morning after sleeping in as the spring air breezed through my window acting like a douchebag. My dipshittery, thankfully, did not bubble over further than my own couch for a few minutes. Granted, I do realize I am a human being and I allowed to occasionally suck. Still, being the Mayor of Negative BitchVille is no longer something I enjoy. When I was younger and perpetually loaded I enjoyed my bitchiness. It was a trait I picked up in middle school to survive. Being a flamboyantly gay youth in Colorado the late 1980s wasn’t as enjoyable as it might sound. So in order to not get the tar beaten out of me I learned how to hurl barbed insults and verbally destroy others before they destroyed me. It was a helpful skill as a child. But leaning on the old bitch mechanisms as an adult is downright sociopathic. A fact I was alerted to in recovery when I had to write down all of the horrible crap I did in order to get better (also known as an inventory). For non-drunken disasters, the inventory process sounds cruel and difficult and guess what– it is! But it also works. Through this process, I discovered that being judgemental, gossipy and manipulative were fine qualities for residents of Melrose Place but had no business in a sober person’s life. Now when I start to act like BitchFace McGee I have to check myself. Where is this coming from? And how can I extinguish it? Usually, it comes down to not feeling good. And yesterday I wasn’t feeling great. The dental health and general health battles of late have made me a little cranky and therefore more susceptible to bad attitude outbursts.

The good news? I did check myself. I had to laugh at my ridiculousness and I went on to have a lovely Sunday, free of shit talking and bitchery. I even made cupcakes for my husband and chatted online with my little brother. It’s never too late in my twisted hater mind to choose happiness instead of misery. But it’s a conscious choice. I have to take the ten minutes to pray or write a gratitude list or take a walk or do something to realize, “Yeah my life is really great!” It’s either that or I spend my day bitching about people on Facebook. Thankfully, the choice is pretty clear.