Shazam! Behold My Ugly Side. Or, More Appropriately, WAH, WAH WAH.

I'm not really good at anything. Really. I mean, I enjoy writing, and drawing, and playing the flute. And being a Mom and having a house to live in and being married and being a sister and a psychic and a friend. But I'm not really good at any of it. It's true! One thing I am fantastic at? Bullshitting. Yep. I could make your ass believe it was your forehead, if you like.
But maybe that's my problem. Maybe I make people think I'm good at things with my amazing bullshitting technique, and then when it comes right down to it, I'm not.
So yes, I've had a rather tough morning which has knocked my confidence down quite a bit and, as you've probably noticed, has made me rather whiney and pathetic.
I found out that the "promotion" I thought I had is not quite as "in the bag" as I thought. Meaning my HR person is mean and won't give me any indication as to whether I actually got on the list or not. And meaning that the manager who was supposed to have sent me a letter of offer called and let me know that she WOULD send me a letter of offer IF I was returning back to work at the end of this month.
Which, dear readers, I am most definitely NOT.
So I began to feel rather crappy about my career. Then I thought, "but look at all that I have!" and I did; I looked at my shamefully messy house and the piles of laundry in the laundry room and the stacks of junk piled on the kitchen table. I regarded, with ire, the flakes of cereal dried to the table. I noted, with distaste, the jam glued to the kitchen floor.
"Ok, so maybe that was the wrong example to make me feel better," I rationalized. Aha! "I am a pretty darn good mother! I studied my son, who was, at that moment, chewing on the tv controller while sitting in his exersaucer and watching Baby Einstein. He caught me looking at him and yelled loudly, which he is wont to do as of late. His sleeper has several areas of caked-on cookie marring its pretty pale blue fuzziness.
My spirits sunk some more.
I know, ok? I KNOW my life is pretty damn nice. I have three gorgeous kids, a great husband, and we all have a roof over our heads and there's food on the table and all that. I know that I have a good, stable job, regardless of present circumstances. I know that I have my sister and brother nearby. And that the sun is shining. And I have my health.
But sometimes, the negatives seem to...sort of...all pile up and obscure the view of the wonderful, you know?
I'm thinking the horrendous menstrual cramps I'm suffering (and the raging hormones that tend to accompany said cramps) are intensifying my negative feelings.
But if my husband, or my brother for that matter, even think about making such a suggestion, asses will be kicked!
Or convinced they are foreheads.