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A Million Little Things

So yesterday was fun.  I came home from the gym doing a victory jig because of my goal reaching activities on the elliptical machine.  If I had only known my day was going to peak at 6am, I would have showered and gone directly to bed.

My mother showed up at 9am and I’m not sure what it is about that lady but I need a joint every time she comes a knockin’.  I love my mom more than anything else.  She’s kept me alive all these years and she’s amazingly generous.  I’m pretty sure there are traces of unicorn and presents in her DNA, so fabulous and magical is she.  But DAMN.  Our energy levels are just not the same.  I don’t mean energy as in “let’s run twelve miles!” energy.  (Although she does have that sort of energy as well.)  I’m talking of that whole life force, auras, what have you kind of stuff.  I’m very mellow and devil may care and go with the flow and any other worn out phrase that means I’m usually very chilled out.  I don’t panic or freak out, no, not even at work when there is a big juicy trauma full of bleeding and broken people to fix.  It’s just how I’m built.  And my mother?  She built me.  So she should have some of this quality.

My mother’s energy is that of a squirrel on meth being chased by rabid dogs through a forest of barbed wire.  She’s frantic.  She is SO NOT go with the flow.

She gets me all amped up and not in the good way.  She was here for about five minutes yesterday and I was SHAKING after she left.  I realized that I only really NEEDED a smoke (back when I smoked…*sigh*) when I was around momma.  And what in the hell does that say about me that I can’t handle my MOTHER, whom I love more than anyone else on the planet?  What is it about me that is so awful and horrible that I can’t even appreciate my mother for the amazing woman she is?

And then I spun around and spit and flapped my arms for a bit until I was better.

I had to take an exam yesterday for an online Cultural Anthropology class.  Because that has EVERYTHING to do with nursing, did you know?  The instructor was very clear about taking our exam ALONE and WITHOUT BOOKS because GOD WAS WATCHING.  And he’d kill a kitten for every question we looked up in the book.  And she really really really wanted the exam to be taken with a FIRM Internet connection.  Wireless is evil and unstable and snacks on children while they dream.  She said.

I drove to campus and parked among the haphazardly parked cars.  Do you kids still have to parallel park in order to pass driver’s education?  Because most of the young ones around here SUCK AT IT.  I walked into campus and stalked the halls looking for a computer lab that didn’t have a class in session.  By the time I found one, some genius had severed the fiber optic cord and slashed the Internet connection FOR THE ENTIRE CAMPUS.  Hoo boy!  Betcha that person is at the unemployment office as we speak.

I drove back home after wasting a little over an hour of my precious study time.  No, seriously.  Every minute counts when you only have three days to cram in six classes.  Whatever, right?  What can I do besides LAUGH?  It was completely out of my control.  I planned to go home and take the exam with my *gasp* wireless connection and if I had any trouble the professor would just have to understand.

The test was fine.  I got an A.  Thank you.

Then I had pages of notes to print off and my roommate’s printer inexplicably prints PINK even when we tell it to NOT use the color cartridge and use only the black ink.  So I have a binder full of pink pages.

Later on I was feeling restless and something else that I couldn’t quite name.  I was in an uncomfortable place in my psyche.  All of the days little tiny frustrations were still there marinating in my blood.  A thousand little things, so small that I didn’t mention half of them.  Faulty car door handles, forgetting my wallet when I needed to buy bread…things like that.  And for some reason yesterday all of those infinitesimal things really started to bug me.  And then I felt like a weak and petty person because I was bothered by such things.  Spiral.

Until I jumped up from the couch and announced to my roommate that we were going to get ice cream.  She saw the crazy on me and didn’t question while she went to get her shoes.  By the time we got to the car I had changed my mind.  What am I doing?  I’m not hungry.  I don’t want ice cream.  It’s a nice night and I should go for a walk because THAT would be the healthy option.  But damn, I’m wearing flip-flops and I’d have to go back up the steps to my apartment and get my shoes and socks on and THEN drive to the hiking trail at the park. Whaaa whine blah I’m dumb.

We were heading to Dairy Queen.  And at the last possible moment I cut off traffic and swung into the lane to go to McDonald’s instead because a hot fudge sundae there has fewer calories.  I’m still not feeling great.  I’m still feeling like I really REALLY hate myself for being so stupid in life and getting upset over NOTHING.  I’m still feeling like I want to punch a wall out of sheer frustration.

Then the lovely pimpled adolescent behind the counter tells us that the ice cream machine is broken.  And I sort of wanted to kiss her.  Because that saved me from myself.  Dawn and I took an hour long walk in the dark after I drove back to the apartment and changed my shoes.

It took about a mile before I started feeling better.  But the point is, I FELT BETTER.  Exercise.  Nature’s psych drug.  Someone write it down.  Oh, they already have?  They’ve been telling us FOR YEARS that exercise will improve moods?  Good to know.

Hello, Belly Roll!

Hello, Belly Roll!

My head to toe for BlogapaLOSEa.  I realize this isn’t the red shirt from last week, but as you can see, it’s still tight.  So I will alternate between these two garments.  Maybe.  It depends on if I do laundry or not.  Who knows?!  I’m madcap that way.

Thanks for reading.  And P.S.  No, I don’t leave the house dressed in tight t-shirts.


One Response

  1. If it makes you feel any better, you & I are similar in make and our moms are similar in make. I worked in several different areas in the medical field before staying home w/my 4 y.o. & 16-month old & can handle vomit, blood, broken bones, dying people & remain calm. However, dealing w/my mother makes me want to drink heavily…and I don’t drink. I can totally picture my mom as a rabid squirrel on meth-love it!

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