I’m working late, and when I’m working late, I’m cranky, and when I’m cranky, there’s no room in my head for anything but what’s making me cranky, and I don’t want to talk about work.
I might be cranky about describing myself as cranky – I am NOT a toddler.
(I might be acting like a toddler.)
If I throw a tantrum, maybe I can stop working.
No, that’s not how this works. Big deadline tomorrow, and I’m stuck waiting for four other people to do their thing, one at a time, before I can do MY thing, and this is the fifth time we’ve gone through this exercise today. It’s 8 o’clock. I want to be done.
Oooh, we have butterscotch pudding.
I AM a toddler.