hissy fit

I’ve generally outgrown fits. I find they accomplish almost nothing; other than a general emptying of my spleen. When the dust settles from my colossal temper-tantrum (and I can whip it up with the best of them), the mess about which I got all frothy remains and then I have damage control to do too. Makes me tired just thinking about it. But, I will confess I left the house this morning in the mood for a good yellin’.

So. What, exactly, is the best course of action when “come, let us reason together” hasn’t worked? Mother says I should change my approach, but I’m so one-minded about this issue, frankly, I’m just not in the mood to look for middle ground. Isn’t that dumb?

My house is a mess. Literally. I’m not normally a sloppy person. Now, nobody would accuse me of being OCD about cleaning; unless I’m mad about something. (then you’d better just back away and let me scrub) But this has gotten beyond me.The sink is never empty. Clothes just get transferred from one basket or pile to another. And don’t get me started about the floors and dust. Where did all this stuff come from? How did it get so bad?

Mom stopped doing it. That’s how. Now, before a certain redhead of my heart starts beating up on himself for not doing anything, let me jump in and say I consider the house MY dominion. I’m terribly old-fashioned. I believe in a division of labor. My realm is the house. Yes. I work outside of the house most of the day. That’s because we like living in a nice house and driving a nice car and going on trips and I enjoy shopping far more than I enjoy NOT shopping. But. I still believe it is my primary responsibility to take care of the house and all things involved in home (food, clothes, etc.). So. What’s a reasonable person to do when she wakes up to realize she’s completely abdicated responsibility for keeping some semblance of order in the house?

I thought about throwing a fit, stomping my feet and unleashing a little of that infamous temper (even told my mother that’s what I planned to do), but I’ve already talked myself out of that. After all, I just said it’s my responsibility. I’m just going to fix it. [insert steely-eyed look of Mom Determination that my family recognizes as “Mom’s on a mission”] While I know it didn’t get cluttered overnight and, therefore, won’t be uncluttered tonight, I can make a big start. And I intend to do just that. Without a fit. Just work. And child labor.


Crappy Day

This day has been a big, smelly, load of gross. Seemingly, everything that COULD go wrong, DID. The only thing I can think of that would have topped off this day is 1. locking my keys in my car or 2. getting pulled over.

Despite great planning and stellar coping skills, there were several technical issues with our parent meeting tonight that caused the wheels to come off in front of 500 parents and, naturally, The Boss.

The car is acting up. Again. The only bright side to this day’s car nonsense is the promise we are going car shopping VERY. SOON.

And I have another day that looks just like this one to look forward to. Joy.

Not for the first time, I wonder if is time to look at another line of work. Not because I don’t love what I do but because there is not enough of me to cover all there is to love. Ever. No matter how hard I work, no matter how much I achieve, there is always more to do/accomplish/overcome. There is never a single moment to reflect. To decompress. To breathe. It is a constant state of hyper-aware.

Like Alice’s White Rabbit, I’m always late. Always just on the verge of panic. Regardless of the reality of my level of preparation (which, most of the time, is pretty damn detailed), I always feel like I’m winging it. I loathe that about myself. I know it is because I am a perfectionist. My problem is that I am the black swan. I hear my darkest fears just over my shoulder (You are inadequate. You are incapable. You are NOT ENOUGH.) and so I rub and polish and worry until I’ve worn away all the shine on something. Even if there was never anything there.

Sinatra would say, “That’s Life,” but I wonder if it really has to be. *sigh*

g’night. I’m giving up on this day.