Emotions. Sometimes they happen.
Especially when hormones saunter in and sneak past your subconscious when it's not paying attention (often, apparently) are all like "oh HEY! You haven't seen me in a solid 27 days, how's it going?"
"Oh ya know... had a pretty busy weekend. Headed down to the Catlins and was menaced by various bits of nature. Feeling a bit tired after all the..."
"HAHAAA! TIRED?! I WILL COMPOUND YOUR EXHAUSTION WITH SUPERFLUOUS EMOTIONS! PREPARE TO WEEP! AND ALSO BE ANGRY, HUNGRY AND SWEATY!!!"
Then I am like hmmm yes... I AM angry at my sheets! Must change sheets! Arrrgh so tired from mammoth effort involved in peeling back elasticated corners have to lie on bare mattress and sulk! Suddenly, am depressed about dirty hair and looking like a smelly tramp who slept in a car with 16 Tasman Bitters then rolled in wet sand and a fire and a seal poo, and get up to wash various bits but notice unpacked bag lurking in a pile of charcoaly sand in the corner. Guilt acid generated by sight of bag is funnelled to the bile duct via lymph and shame tubules, where it is catalysed to stomach acid by attention deficit hormones and propels you to the kitchen to melt cheese. Only, the 817 various eating items looming in the sink corner, and baking powder, brown sugar and corona bottles coating the floor (it bottles could coat things, these ones would), sends you back to the mattress, but no sheets, but floor sandy but... shower... guilt... food... anger... and you end up eventually hiding under a blanket reading blogs and eating milo powder with a spoon and listening to karma police on repeat.
The Catlins are cool though!
For example, I had never realised quite how massive sealions are. They are big. And they smell. And when they start waddling towards you it is unbelieveably terrifying because you suddenly can't remember exactly how fast they can run but you have a vague feeling sea lions are one of those irritatingly ungainly animals, like crocodiles and hippos, which will outsprint you for a warmup, then eat your knees and go attack a boat or something, and it starts to cut you off, and you half sprint, half creep, and Dom is behind you whimpering "ohshitohshitohshitit'slookingatusohshitit'scomingtowardsusohfuckohshit" and you narrowly escape in the most pathetic and embarrassing sort of submissive crawl ever, and as you back carefully away it stops and looks at you with 200kg of contempt and rolls over to have a sunbathe.
So. Moral of the story, sea lions are like hormones because they will make you their bitch and there is nothing you can do about it.
Or you could just get pregnant and be spewy and swelly but elated instead.