self indulgent

*This is a…wait for it…a reprise from a thousand years ago. And in this moment, it feels apropos.

I’m reticent (translate to too chicken) to put REPRISE in the title anymore. I’ve been informed that most of you (at least the vocal majority), hate reprises. “I don’t want to re-read things I’ve already read” my brother snarked at me this week. “I mean I get that you might need a break every now and then, but breaks are for lightweights”.
Shit. That’s harsh. Tough crowd.
He doesn’t like it when I ask questions at the end either. “Okay, now you guys weigh in—what do YOU think” he sneers in a sarcastic tone that has me snort laughing my coffee and flipping him off at the same time. “It’s YOUR blog, YOU’RE giving the advice. YOU tell us what we should think!”
So, please excuse me while I chase him around the kitchen flicking him with a wet dish towel and then give him an atomic wedgie.
I’m giving the rest of  y’all a hug right now with a warm blanket made of bacon.
Mmmmmmmmmm…
carry on,
xox

On those days when you’re finding fault with EVERYTHING— the sky isn’t the right Tiffany Box shade of blue and the air conditioning is blowing too cold—how do you get yourself out of it? (hee hee, he’s seething right now).
Do you, at some point realize your ridiculousness and slap yourself across the face to snap 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 when you’re being an ass – because I know it when I am.

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 circumstances and hormones you put your feet on the floor when you wake up in the land of EVERYTHING’S WRONG, do you indulge and make those around you miserable, or do you do your damnedest to climb out? ( I really wanna know!)

I’ve done both. I DO both. Guilty as charged in the court of Nit & Pick.

These dark days do not come naturally to me, but when I’m under their spell – watch out – and know that I DO know what an asshat I’m being, I just can’t help myself right. this. minute.
So sorry.

Not really.

The kitchen looks the same as it did two days ago when I was feeling so grateful but today the bright summer sunshine is lighting up a couple of places that have chipped white paint. Instead of making it look charming and cozy it looks like a family of badgers had a drunken pinata party, then had trouble with the bat, (as badgers do), and turned the place into a badger-shithole.

Along those lines, the wine stains on the wood countertops that were just faded purple reminders of a really fun party last summer, have today, (wrong side of the bed day) become my reason for 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.

Don’t tell me I’m acting like an idiot when I am—because that’s like taking a high-pressure hose of lighter fluid and spraying it on a fire.

I KNOW I AM. IM WORKING IT OUT.

But I will deny it….with 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.

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

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

Hormones, I’m blaming hormones.
I remember feeling this out of sorts during puberty, but the Good Lord had the common sense 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? (Calm down Jim, that was rhetorical).

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.
Is that what you do? (*snort)

Try it.
Just listen to yourself. Step up and out of your body as you berate the waiter or the lady at Ralph’s or your husband.

If every other word is a critique or fuck, chances are you’re having THAT kind of day. Or you’re channeling me.

Sometimes, what I hear myself say is so vile it makes me laugh, which then breaks the spell. Or it makes the recipient so mad they chase me around with a taser and I have to make a break for it AND get some cardio in at the same time which is just a win/win. Two birds—one stone.

If that doesn’t work puh-leeze do everyone, including yourself a favor.
Do what I do. Don’t speak TO ANYONE, go to bed early, and before you go to sleep say a little prayer for a better disposition, less facial hair and a better tomorrow.

Love you anyway,
Xox

BRAT
noun.
a child, especially an annoying, spoiled, or impolite child (usually used in contempt or irritation).

Today I had a brat attack. It is only second in its savagery to a terrorist attack.
It’s like a five-year old terrorist has taken over my emotions, behavior and mouth.
Then I blew up; all. over. my. husband.

Do you ever do that? No, I’m sure I’m the only one…..

My brat inspired tantrum, albeit short, was ugly.
I wanted to stomp my feet, throw myself on the floor and pull at my hair……but I was driving…..and talking on the phone. My five-year old annoying, impolite child, said stuff. Stupid stuff using a five-year old’s limited language.

When she inhabits me to that degree, there’s no reasoning with her. Have you ever tried to reason with a pissed off five-year old?

Have you ever said stupid stuff like that? No…..I’m sure you haven’t.

Anyway…
I’m inclined to blame it on the “energy”, or solar flares, but I think the sun’s been pretty quiet, so I suppose I have to take responsibility.

I have no excuse except frustration at a situation and my own bad behavior in handling it.

Do you do that? No? Hmmmmmmm…guess it’s just me…

My inner brat doesn’t rear her wild haired little head too often in my life. I do try to embrace her ( like a human straightjacket ) when she does and I’d never want her to go away for good.

She lets me know when I’ve exceeded my limit. When things have gone too far.

She is the barometer of how high my stress, shame or frustration level has gotten.

When she howls; I listen. If I resort to her terrorist tactics…there’s a problem. Either it’s something real and I’m too tired or cranky to deal.
Or, my perception has been hijacked by my ego, and I need to just get over myself.
Then other times; she’s just plain being a bitch.

Can you relate? No? Really??

I texted my husband a mea culpa as soon as I parked. Then I laughed at the absurdity of the attack.

He’s met my brat; she doesn’t scare him. Once, when they scuffled, he threatened to call my mother and rat her out.

Today’s visit was short-lived and I got the message.

Note to self: Don’t save important things until the last-minute and learn to accept help, otherwise it’s a set up for frustration. And don’t nosedive and dial.

The call was unnecessary and self indulgent…oh, that is sooooo her.

You ever nosedive and dial? Don’t lie. Tell me about your last brat attack!

Xox