I was in a foul mood yesterday. Everything was wrong. I was in such a foul mood, in fact, that I had to check to see if it could be explained away by PMS. (the answer was no.)

I hated my job. Even though I had received amazing compliments on a story I’d written that’s in the issue coming out this weekend. The subjects of the story were in the office, crying as they read it. They hugged me, thanked me profusely, asked if I’ve ever considered writing books.

This should have made me happy, right?

Instead, it just reminded me that this job is a placeholder, that I should be doing bigger, better things. I’m better than this job. I know I am.

Over the weekend, I had a wonderful time in Cleveland…so much so, in fact, that I said “I think I might seriously consider moving to Cleveland next year, if there’s nothing keeping me in Buffalo.”

But yesterday, I was feeling stuck. I was wondering if the decision to stay was the wrong one. I was wondering if I could be preparing my classroom right now, had I gone somewhere else.

I hated my tutoring job, and was feeling resentful that I have to do it at all.

I was feeling resentful of my younger brother, who has a great new job in his field.

Do you ever just want to scream “What about me? When’s it my turn? It isn’t fair!” and throw a three-year-old style tantrum?

That was how I felt yesterday.