empty buckets

I've been feeling rather snarky lately. Snarky.  Frustrated. Burnt-out. Hurt. Humiliated. Inferior. And just plain ticked off. Ugh. A week of adding insult to injury over and over finally got to me. A real case of the mean reds and I reacted poorly without grace or patience or class. Dreadful. I don't like this feeling at all, but it seems to be stuck and I just can't shake it. It certainly doesn't bring out the best in me and in fact often works up embarrassing behavior. I've said things I wish I hadn't. Raised my voice when I needn't. Thought things I oughtn't. Reacted harshly.  Oh! I am so very wretched. My little boys witnessed a sort of episode of frustration and I can't erase it. My Piglet learned a word that is hardly naughty but sounds a bit shameful coming from the cherubic mouth of a three-year-old. And it's probaly my fault. Ugh. That same Piglet, dramatic and loud (or louder) always, was telling me to calm down. Oh, I am rotten. And what makes it worse: my frustration has been unleashed in parcels. None of the recipients could know of any other catalysts, each building on the other. So, they likely think I'm just uptight. Permanently snarky. That I'm just that way all the time. Ugh. 

Will my children get over it and forget? Will strangers and friends alike just brush it aside? Have I done permanent damage? Can I beg and pray for sufficient forgiveness.  Can I find a way to fill my empty bucket and get my mojo back? Goodness knows it's up to me. My bucket. My job to fill it. And avoid letting it get empty again. I shudder to think.

First things first: a quasi date night on the sofa with John Wayne, Ben & Jerry, and Mr. J. Maybe that will help.  Or maybe I should try Holly Golightly's advice.