Don't Anger A Tired Pink

There are a few combinations that will never end well and the other night was a perfect storm of every imaginable one for me. I was ridiculously tired (as I'd had about half an hour of sleep); I had to be on-set at 6:30 (but overslept by 15 minutes) and kept busy there all day; I only ate once all day (around noonish); I'd missed a day or two of my anti-depressants because I forgot to take them; and, to top it off, it was the end of my monthly....well, you know. Lovely. I should've worn a sign around that said: Don't Anger The Pink and perhaps the day would've gone better. Unfortunately, by midnight, I was about to explode and Adam was in my path of bitch. Granted, he wasn't perfect himself, but I was in rare form. If I'd been some animal in a zoo, they would've shot me with a dart to sedate me. I suppose the only good thing was that I didn't really speak (because I don't think I was able to do anything but yell at that point); I just clammed up and drove 100 miles per hour. Sometimes shutting your mouth is the only way to survive. Apparently we're still friends, so that's good. Maybe I just like to fight?