Waiter, There’s A Fly In My Soup ~ Reprise

Hey you guys,
Well, look at this. Two years have gone by and I haven’t changed a bit. Consistency is a virtue…isn’t it?
Carry on,
xox

We have all had those days. You know the ones where you find fault with EVERYTHING? The sky isn’t the right Tiffany shade of blue and the air conditioning is blowing too cold. So tell me, how do you get yourself out of it?

Do you, at some point realize your ridiculousness and slap yourself the hell out of it?

Or do you marinate in the fact that you’re so contrary that if George Clooney sat down beside you you’d tell him he needed a haircut and an Altoid?

I know you know we ALL know when we’re being an ass.

We wake up every day and there are two sides of the bed on which to get up.
The sunny side or the dark side—the right side or the wrong side.

The question I’m asking is this; if by some cruel twist of circumstance and hormones, when you put your feet on the floor and you wake up in the land of EVERYTHING IS WRONG, do you indulge and make those around you miserable? Or do you do your damnedest to climb out?

I’ve done both. I DO both. Guilty as a charged in the court of I’M A HORRIBLE, TWO-SIDED BITCH.

These dark days do not come naturally to me, but when I’m under their spell – watch out – and know that I DO realize what an ass-hat I’m being, I just can’t help myself right. this. minute.
God, I’m so sorry.
Not really.
See what I mean?!

Case in Point: the kitchen looks the same as it did two days ago when I was feeling so twinkly and grateful.
The bright summer sunshine shone on a couple of places that have chipped white paint but that only made it look charming and cozy. Our coffee maker broke, we replaced it, no harm no foul (thank you Amazon). The wine stains on the wood countertops triggered happy memories. Faded purple reminders of a really fun party last summer.

Today, (wrong side of the bed day) I’m seriously entertaining throwing a grenade behind me and shutting the door, giving us the opportunity for a fresh start.

You’re welcome Honey, what can I say…I’m a giver.

Oh, by-the-way, don’t tell me I’m acting unreasonable—because that’s like taking a hose full of lighter fluid and spraying it on a forest fire.

I KNOW I AM. AND I’M WORKING IT OUT.

But I will deny it until my dying breath. I will tell you I’m “fine.”
I’m sorry if your feelings and our kitchen have become collateral damage. If you want to survive this:
Don’t make eye contact and DON’T try to hug me. I have a fork in my hand.

Inevitably, these are the days they’re out of sesame bagels, the coffee order is wrong and you don’t find out until you’re back at the office, and there’s a fly, doing the backstroke, in your won-ton soup.

My best strategy in the past has been to isolate for a while.  Take a long, lovely walk outside in nature (I can’t today, with the heat index and the humidity, it feels like Thailand.)

Meditation can be a good way to snap back into a loving place along with exercise. Neither of those has worked, so I’m still marinating in my misery.

Hormones, I’m blaming hormones. 
I remember feeling this out of sorts during puberty, but the Good Lord had the common decency to deal me that hand when I wasn’t old enough to marry, operate heavy machinery or carry a firearm.
Whatever shall I do now?

The trick for me is listening to my own words as they spill uncensored from my lips.
If they make even me cringe, I need to make a correction.
I need to shut up and realize I’m acting like an ass.
You guys, is that what you do?

I just listen to myself. Step up and out of my body as I berate the barista, or the lady at Ralph’s, or my husband.

If every other word is a snarky critique or fuck, chances are you’re having THAT kind of day.
Sometimes, what I hear ME say is so vile it makes me laugh—which breaks the spell.

What if that doesn’t work?
Do everyone, including yourself a favor.
Remain silent, drink wine, go to bed early, and before you go to sleep say a little prayer for a better disposition tomorrow.

Love you anyway,
Xox