On top of everything else that baby-making has wreaked upon my body, I learned this week that I have a thyroid disease. Wooooo. To be fair, it’s very possible I already had it and just didn’t know about it, in which case… thanks for bringing it to my attention, I guess? For various reasons I won’t be starting any medication for a while, which means living with the symptoms for now.

Two of the big ones? Fatigue and irritability. Which made me laugh, because these are also the chief symptoms of getting up every night to feed a baby. And hoo boy do I have them. The fatigue goes without saying, but the sheer intensity of my irritability took me by surprise, and it is almost a relief to find out there is more than one cause. Because I’m not talking mere annoyance. I’m talking flames.

I’ve been going from zero to furious at the drop of a hat (because who left this hat here, I just cleaned this room and now there’s fricking hats all over ugggghhh). I’ve mostly managed to keep it bottled behind a bland expression, because logically I know there is no reason to be angry and therefore I shouldn’t take it out on the people around me, but logic does little to cool me down. (I should mention, before anyone gets worried, that about the only thing in the world right now that doesn’t irritate me is the baby himself. Cuz he’s just a baby.)

Long story short, I thought it would be cathartic to write out a list of things that have infuriated me lately, so I can hold them up, acknowledge their ridiculousness, and hopefully give everyone else a bit of a laugh in the process.

Without further ado:

Merges. You know, lanes of cars. Everybody gets irritated when people don’t merge properly and the lanes back up. But I’m irritated even when everybody merges perfectly. There can be one other car and he’s way ahead of me so there is no conflict, and I squeeze my fists around the wheel anyway because UGH MERGES.

The radio not playing what I want. I don’t want to listen to this!!

Oh, and cars that have the nerve to drive down my street when I’m putting the baby to bed. YOU IDIOTS DON’T YOU KNOW THERE IS A BABY ON THIS STREET?

Librarians from the 1930s. One in particular who was quick with a bottle of glue. I want to build a time machine so I can go back in time and slap her in the face.

Well-meaning advice. Deep down I know that you are only trying to be helpful, and that I can listen to your opinion and then take it or leave it. But on the surface it sounds prescriptive, and if there was ever a time in my life that I liked being told what to do, it certainly isn’t today. For now it’s probably better to keep it all to yourself, because I might slip and give you dagger eyes and then I’ll just feel guilty about it, but I won’t apologize because that would mean bringing the conversation up again.

My hair. Why won’t it do what I want??

The Facebook news feed algorithm team. Who wrote this shitty new algorithm? Why can’t it just show me what my actual friends have actually posted? I don’t care what pages my friends like. I don’t care when my friends comment on threads made by people I’m not friends with. And for the love of god I want it all in chronological order!

My neighbor with the big “Irish Pride” tattoo. He never wears a shirt. He walks his dog on the slope behind our windows, presumably so he can sneakily avoid picking up its poop. He’s single-handedly responsible for the new sign that says no alcohol in the pool area. He is, say it with me: the wooooorst.

And finally, a shout out to songs that get stuck in my head at night. My heart boils but there is nowhere for the excess heat to go. I chew on my fury as half of a chorus loops on and on because my tired brain is glitching and I can’t make it stop. And when I wake up in the morning, it’s still there!

So thank you for your patience, I’ll get back to normal eventually. For now, forgive the dagger eyes and the curt, insincere-sounding thank yous. Rest assured, it is mostly in my head. Mostly.