I'm as I've always been, right behind what's happening

I'm a grouchy bitch today.  Grouchy enough to be irritating myself, in fact.  If I could leave my own body I'd stay far away from me today.  Yikes.  This does not bode well for the long day ahead of me.

Starbucks this morning: the S on Evans has exactly seven parking spaces and two on the street in front of it.  It began with the unreasonably large Suburban that took up two entire spaces and thus occupying the only one remaining in a one-block radius.  It did not help that the dippy bitch driving it looks uncannily like someone I intensely dislike at the moment, and keeps getting in and out of said vehicle as if she plans to leave but isn't really.  She smiled kindly when I looked at her and it was all I could do not to run her over, and then back up and do it again

and then back up and do it again.

Where does this rage come from?

Then I finally got a space (normally I would walk but it's a teaching day, I'm wearing heels, have bothered to put rather expensive product into my hair, am wearing a cashmere blend, and thusly do not wish to do so in the rain), and subsequently my Earl Grey cambric (<--yes, that's of course redundant as a cambric is Early Grey and milk, but try telling THAT to an overly cheerful Starbucks worker bee who insists on calling it "misto").  After loading my tea with an unreasonable amount of artificial sweetener, I pull out of the parking lot to find that someone has parked in the street where I need to turn in order to obtain his/her morning fix.  I actually had to wait for traffic to pass before I could proceed down the street.  Where are the cops when this goes on?  Ten bucks says if I even considered doing such a thing, the entire Denver police force would know it instinctively and be lined up to write me a ticket or ten for each and every infraction they could imagine.  I go around finally and some motherfucker in one of those stupid square box Scion things throws his vehicle into reverse to park without so much as looking in his rearview and almost hits me.  I tap my horn as if to say "hey, I'm back here" and then he flips me off.

Now I understand how Chuck Palahniuk can write a story in which a character can simply think a culling poem and another person will drop dead.  Thank god that is fiction and not reality; there would be a swath of dead bodies in my wake this morning.  Individuals I like, but I simply hate people sometimes.