I think I might be broken

We have been sick; lethargy-inducing, stupefyingly sick. The sickness has come in waves, with a better day here, a worse one there. Through it all though, I have never ceased feeling like a terrible person.

The thing is I am crotchety. Little things are getting to me and I am taking my irritations out on my family. My irritability has formed a toxic miasma in which I reside. Its foul odor emanates from me, and I witness its foggy tentacles creeping out before me as I step into a room. The frothy pink bubbles rising from my mother's, father's, and baby's lyrical play put up stiff resistance but can, and do, succumb to my malodorous cloud. I am toxic.

The toxic haze is even less called for and more puzzling during this most recent bout of familial illness. My mother, the unfailingly generous and kind woman who cares for my daughter while I am at work, woke the other morning feeling worse than she had the night before. My response, the response of an adored daughter who should thank her lucky stars to have such a giving mother? I sighed. I sighed, became irritated, and started contemplating what this latest development would do to my morning run. Who behaves that way?

The trouble, on top of the toxic fumes that intermittently burn the eyes and throats of my loved ones, is that I am having a really hard time changing. I most emphatically do not want to be an irritable person, but the sourness inevitably wells up inside. I am meditating, writing thank you notes, running, and generally trying to be good, but I have not yet banished this foul, ungrateful creature inside. help.

- well, there it is... posted from my iPad