I woke up mad this morning.

Not irked, not annoyed, but pissed.

I was lying in bed feeling too angry to get out of bed. The alarm clock buzzed (after what must have been 8 or 9 snoozes) and interrupted my rage. I responded by punching the fucking thing. As the pain seared in my hand i picked up the clock and threw it as far as its cord would allow.

I looked at my hand, it was already swelling and had a nice purlpish color to it, this only fueled my rage. I marched downstairs grabbed a piece of ice and wrapped it an a paper towel. I put the ice on my hand, announced that I would not be going to work and returned to my bed.

I assumed that I had broken a knuckle. For it to bruise that fast and swell that much, it had to be broken. I took the ice off and started poking. Swollen, yes. Sore, yes. Broken, no. I must have crushed the blood vessel that goes right next to that knuckle.

I laid there, even angrier for the stupidity of my new injury, and pictured myself laying there all day, getting more and more pissed.

So I got out of bed and got dressed. And went to work.

I’m too tired. I’m so tired. I worked for hours and hours this weekend on this apartment. Hammering in quarter-round. Patching holes in the walls and ceiling. Painting. Nothing hard. I did the hard work last weekend. But still, a lot of work.

And now I’m tired. I can’t seem to get untired.

The good news is that the first apartment is done, and has tenants.

The bad news is the second apartment still needs to be painted and some small repairs made. And that tenant will move in April 1.