Sour

I am grumping because I haven't been well. I've had to cancel loads of stuff, and everything is getting on my nerves. Offsprog 2 is playing David Bowie upstairs. I have never been keen on the man, but tonight he sounds like a singing dentist, lips drawn back from his teeth, whining like a drill.
On the tube home from Diversity Training this afternoon, an assertive fellow thought he could get away with shoving his electronic game-playing elbow not only on the elbow rest, but beyond and into my seatspace. O no, assertive fellow! My own elbow was soon assertively yet gently shoving his elbow back where it belonged, relentlessly, until he was sitting neatly within his allotted area and out of mine.
Grr.
Woe betide anyone who crosses me today! I am nastily articulate, sending cold emails through cyberspace in between bouts as an armchair TV critic, muttering unprintable words. I have been shunting duties further and further into the week and they are going to collapse into a pile tomorrow, I know.
Why has food poisoning given me backache? I've been swallowing little chalky aspirins that fortunately work, but they leave my irritable mood intact.
Even the dishes trembled as I put them away strictly in their cupboard, daring them to wobble or obstruct the door! I have folded vicious creases into my clothes and shan't be playing guitar tonight in case I snap the strings.

Tomorrow, I will be mellow again.