Pissed Off or Pissed On?

Do you ever have a bad mood day, that you just are ok with? You decide, I am taking this crappy mood and nurturing it. I’ll pet it and feed it and make it part of my every move. I’ll own this bitch, make it my middle name. I will purposefully have thin skin and let every little thing get to me. I will write less than super friendly emails, eavesdrop on conversations that just make me want to strangle someone. Things that don’t affect me, I’ll still get up in arms about them, think that person was out to get me, just me. Be annoyed at happy pictures and statuses on FB, be irritated with people that want something from me, temporarily forget what empathy is and replace it with apathy. Things and people that don’t normally get to me, will make me want to spit nails. Envy and slothfulness and wrath will be my mantra.  10 commandments?  Forget that, I’m all about the 7 deadly sins.

Just as we can choose to be happy, can we choose to be mad? Is it ok to let those negative emotions flow, just for a day? Is it like one of those juice cleanses? Better on the other side of a good old fashioned shit fit? What about acting happy when you’re not, can’t that cause some sort of health problems?  An aneurysm or eye twitch, or some such physical manifestation from holding in my bad mood. So many times we just let things slide and go on about our day, not expressing typically negative opinions and thoughts because 1) what’s the point, you can’t change stupid 2) none of your business anyway 3) my Mom always taught me if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything.   But what about the people that are mean to me? Attack me for something that isn’t under my control?  Why are some people the punching bag and others get to be Mike Tyson?  Today I want to be like Mike.

It’s not anyone or anything in particular. It’s everyone. And everything. Work, home, family, friends, no one is exempt today. It’s what you’re wearing, what you’re saying, your whining and complaining, you’re doing it wrong, you won, you lost.  I don’t care. You’re forgetting, you need me to clean up your mess, it’s broken, it’s ugly, you’re making bad choices.  It’s all like fingernails on a chalkboard to me today.  Is this what serial killers feel like? Coffee, food, exercise, sleep, wine, nothing will make it better today. Ok, maybe wine.  But I doubt it. I’m right, you’re wrong.  You’re too slow, too lazy, a slacker, wimpy, and I don’t want to deal with you today.  I can’t pretend today.

Today I’m not doing your job. Today I’m not putting up with your stupid requests. Today I’m not feeling sorry for you. Today I don’t care if you feel sick. Today I’m not feeling guilty for ignoring you or snapping at you. I just can’t. It’s not you, it’s me. Today I’m just gonna put my head down, do my duty and go to bed. Bad attitude you say? Damn straight. And then tomorrow, I’ll probably wake up just fine.  I’ll go back to smiling, playing nice, being excited for you, helping you, going out of my way to make it better for you, laughing, being compassionate. And I’ll be happy to do it. Back to my normal, fun loving, helpful and funny self. But right now, I’m taking my toys and going home.



Today’s Top Stories

Sorry for my absence, for those of you who care.  End of the year school activities had me unable to form complete sentences.

A lot of very touchy subjects are in the news spotlight right now.  It’s enough to make me want to swear off Facebook and media in general.  Everyone is pissed about something.  Many are about pissed about everything.  Some are pissed about nothing, but I don’t know any of those people.  As I’ve constructed my opinion on these matters, whether just in my head or verbalized to my friends who I know will agree with me, the conclusion I’ve come to is that I’m pretty laid back about everything.  Or just too lazy to be really passionate about any one of these topics.  I have opinions, and I like to express them, but they aren’t always based on years of research, or some staunchly held religious belief.  I just think them because I do.  I have some rationales, but not always.  I generally don’t try to persuade people to my side of the fence, so I think it’s ok to just have an opinion. In any case…

#1-Gay Marriage-or as you’ve heard some call it, “Marriage”  Truth is I can’t say anything smart that you haven’t already heard in the past week since SCOTUS made their ruling.  I think it’s just fine and dandy if homosexuals want to get married.  It doesn’t bother me one bit.  Not in a religious sense, not in a political sense, not in a sexual sense, not in any sense.  Some will say I have no sense.  And I’m ok with that.  My religion does think being homosexual is a sin, although we don’t exactly talk about it much.  It was a 5 paragraph article on the 4th page of the quarterly national newsletter. The equivalent of “Cat Show Spectacular in Tuscaloosa” news coverage.  I don’t agree.  Plain and simple.  I think God made homosexuals just they way they are and they deserve the legal benefits of a binding marriage contract.

#2-Sub-text of #1 Gay Marriage opinion-I also think homosexual couples should be allowed to adopt children.  The homosexuals couples I know that are raising children are doing a bang up job.  Whereas on the other hand, I’ve witnessed some seriously fucked up heterosexuals doing their best, yet pathetic, version of a sideshow act of parenting I’ve ever seen.  I’m not saying sterilization should be legal…but I have a really long list of those who should be first in line should it ever come to that.  Lots of unwanted children out there, give them a loving parent, gay or straight, and they have a fighting chance in this world.

#3 Confederate Flag nonsense-Stop flying it over government buildings like a badge of honor.  Otherwise, leave it be.  We can’t rewrite or make disappear all the shitty history we’d rather forget.  We don’t have to worship former symbols of hatred, but rather teach what was and learn to be better.  And Dukes of Hazard rules!

#4 Gun Violence- We own a handgun and several WWII display rifles.  I hate all the gun violence that rips families apart on a daily basis across our country (not just Detroit, folks…).  It shames me that our country’s price for our right to bear arms is such tragedy. Like the war on drugs, I’m fairly certain there is not an answer to this question that will EVER work.  Law abiding citizens will never give up their right to lawfully own guns while criminals will abuse that right and kill innocent people. It just makes me sad.

#5 Kim Kardashian’s pregnancy-refer to previous statement about sterilization.

#6 Rob Stark being killed off on Game of Thrones-The red headed witch lady better bring him back to life next season or someone is gonna be in a world of hurt.

#7 USA Women’s Soccer Team-They won the World Cup in glorious fashion!  Being a soccer household, of course we were watching, but I know plenty of non-soccer freaks that also were engrossed.  Win for the sport, win for the ladies, win for USA!

So here is where I leave you today. There will be friends and family who disagree with my opinions, and that’s perfectly ok with me. They of course are entitled to their opinions as much as I am.  My opinions are not up for debate any more than theirs are. What these hotly discussed issues have brought to the forefront of my mind is that I need to be as respectful of those who I feel are on the “wrong” side of the fence, as I expect them to be of me.  And in that vein, what I’ve found that works is seriously just to stop reading.  I get sucked into the comments on a Facebook post, full of “racist bastards, sodomites, faggots, gun toting rednecks” and verbiage that makes me seethe with anger.

The vehemence and name calling and attacks and fury and outrage is just exhausting.  I have trouble enough getting my Keurig power button not to stick, this shit is too much for me. I hate the fact that I lay in bed last night unable to sleep due to swirling thoughts of the widespread, ongoing and irrational reactions to these issues.  So I step away. And the truth is, I can’t change them, and arguing with them sure isn’t going to get me anywhere.  So respect.  Or at least blissful ignorance. Can’t we all just get along?

“I believe in God, but not as one thing, not as an old man in the sky. I believe that what people call God is something in all of us. I believe that what Jesus and Mohammed and Buddha and all the rest said was right. It’s just that the translations have gone wrong.”  –John Lennon

A Little Cheese with that Whine?

So I got about 5 hours of sleep last night.  For some, that is just fine, they can make it through a day no problem.  For me, not. even. close.  I require 8 hours. But when I do have these occasional bouts of insomnia, it’s always on a Sunday night.  And usually on a Sunday when I don’t get to church.  Going to church is a very centering thing for me, it calms me and gives me perspective.  When I miss (which don’t get me wrong, I am by no means within the realm of stunning attendance), I have trouble putting things into their mental place. And then I can end up laying in bed for hours, with a tornado of thoughts, usually negative, swirling around in my head.  Everything seems worse in the dark.

And last night was one of those nights.  I saw it coming.  End of the school year chaos is at hand.  There aren’t many areas in my life right now that don’t have a shit-storm brewing.  My kids’ grades and final exams, soccer tryouts, major changes at work, friends and family with issues that make me sad, over-scheduling, Riley soon becoming a senior, feeling overwhelmed with getting it all done on time, backyard remodel, etc. And not forgetting something.  And helping everyone that needs help. Responsibilities of being me swelling and changing and growing. And the rain this whole weekend. Total downer. Apropos as it was.

I find myself just done. Work is the easiest place to call it quits emotionally. Having a job that is cyclical in nature, first day of school to last day of school, my perspective is different than those whose job simply runs on and on. And I am shutting down for the year.  Done with the drama, done with the excuses, done with the fighting, done with the whining, done with other people’s problems. It’s a nice luxury to have, don’t get me wrong.  I get to walk out of this building for 6 weeks, like turning off a faucet. I will be at home and recharge. Spend time focused on my kids, on Brendan and on me. But for now, my sympathies have run dry. Do I apologize for that?  Do you reach the end of your rope and find yourself saying “I’m sorry, but I’m just out of rope.” So many things on my mind, I’ve just been pulled down to the last few inches and need to shut some of it down so I don’t drop off the end.

So as I lay in bed, trying to sort thru my worries, I tossed and turned, on my back, on my side, blanket on, blanket off, flipping the pillow over, considering the couch, seething with jealousy over my peaceful slumbering husband.  Usually he is the one with sleeping issues, but not this time. I’m finding it hard to smile right now. And that makes me sadder. It’s not any one thing, it’s the dilemmas, the stresses, the guilt, the weight of it all at one time. I’m usually pretty tough. Anyone that knows me would say that. Although I do tend to cry at any online video that warns you “Grab a tissue,” and Kleenex commercials.  And most of the Budweiser Clydesdale commercials.  And onions. I actually think crying is a sign of strength, I’m not afraid to own those feelings.  And I usually feel better on the other side of a good sob-fest.

I don’t want sympathy or pity. Not sure that I want anything at all. I think maybe I’m just defending my right to be in a craptastic mood.  Petty, defensive, mentally tired. I’m sure you’ve been there before. There are those that will help me climb back up the rope, and for them I am very thankful (sorry for the weight I’ve put on, it will be harder to push me back up to the top). And I know my problems and worries pale in comparison to some, but they are mine. And I’ve officially lost sleep over them. Things do seems better in the day light, though. And the sun is shining, just a little bit.

Job #1

So Riley got a job.  His first W-2, paycheck givin’, tax-taking, unglamorous, lower than minimum wage job. We told him he had until June 12, the day school got out, to land a job.  Or it was buh-bye to phone, car, computer, PS3, life as he knows it. He’s actually been working for the last 3 years as a soccer referee, pretty cush job.  But it’s seasonal, lasts about 3 months in the spring and fall, and it’s also not “guaranteed.”  Games are assigned or not assigned, so there is no regular paycheck, so to speak.  It does however, pay well, and no taxes because he doesn’t make enough :-). So now that he is moving to a REAL job, it’s gonna get ugly. And that IS guaranteed. My poor guinea pig 1st son.

Do you remember your first jobs? Come with me on a stroll down minimum wage lane. I started doing menial filing in my Mom’s office when I was 14.  I listened to Billy Joel in that basement over and over and over. It was a cassette tape.  And I sang at the top of my lungs because no one could hear me.  And I was good. At filing…not singing.

My high school job summer job was at Wendy’s ..my first and only fast food job.  I quickly graduated from bun toaster to drive thru window because I could make change in my head (Thanks, Dad!).  At the time, Wendy’s served Chicago style hot dogs.  I could assemble one of those bad boys in my sleep, there were like 8 toppings.

College saw me employed at Little Caesars on campus for a year (turned down the $.05 raise to come back for a 2nd year, take that bitches), the dorm cafeteria for a couple of years, then I was a Meijer cashier.  I got put on their “do not rehire” list because I was a no-call, no-show for my last day of work. I’m such a rebel. To this day I want to apply at Meijer, just to see how long they hold on to that list. Then the shit got real.  I got a job working with developmentally disabled adults who live in group homes.  Their disabilities ranged from wheelchair bound and non-communicative to downs syndrome folks who held down jobs. I didn’t last very long, that was a taxing job. It takes a special kind of person, and I ain’t that special.

During the first couple summers of college and during breaks I was back home and did transcription work for an office of psychologists and psychiatrists. It was that job that helped me see that I did not want to go into clinical psychology. It was very interesting, but not my cup of wine (and yes, before you ask, I got discounts on much needed therapy….).

Just before graduating college I got a job as a bank teller at a local Kalamazoo bank.  I actually kind of liked that job, but let’s just say banks don’t appreciate my sense of humor.  Not a good fit.  I know, hard to believe.

Then I got married and moved to Maryland where I worked for a temp agency.  I did some really weird administrative assistant jobs, very short term, some good, some aw. ful.  But my last placement saw me working in the travel department for World Bank employees for almost a year.  I was a travel agent of sorts. It was pretty cool, actually, I was booking hotels and flights around the world and in Washington D.C.  My office overlooked Georgetown University and the Potomac.  I was kind of a big deal. By then we had moved to Arlington, VA into our plush and stately 1 bedroom apartment, Brendan still had his “real” job working in Alexandria, VA and we were a 1 car family. It was a Ford Probe.  The spoils of consistent employment 🙂

Then I was starting grad school in Baltimore, so we moved north.  I took my travel agent skills and got a job at a travel agency working in their group department doing high school trips to Europe and investment trips to South America.  I worked for a bunch of Austrians.  I learned that “shiza” means “shit.”  Other outstanding memory from there? Watching the OJ Simpson verdict on on a tiny little TV. If the glove don’t fit, you must acquit. I had a paltry salary, but it was an intriguing experience.

THEN…finally…I landed in what I would call my first REAL job. During grad school, I was referred to the Maryland Department of Transportation, State Highway Administration.  I worked in Testing and Recruitment full time, 40 whole hours a week (while still in school), earned vacation, a nice salary, a cubicle of my very own, commuting, doing work that required a college degree. I’d made it to the big leagues. Stuff I did, actually, for realsies, impacted other people’s lives. Who the hell thought that was a good idea.  But it was in my field of study and I really liked it.

So in 10 short years I went from filing to test development for engineering professionals. The plan worked. Then I got pregnant, quit my job, moved back to Michigan and got the BEST job ever: Stay at Home Mommy for 8 years 🙂 My salary was hugs and kisses. I was not very far removed from my college days where I proudly declared, “Of course I’ll work when I have babies!”  But I didn’t. For me personally, it wasn’t about some grand principle that I needed to make a stand on. Brendan and I talked, decided no day care for our family, and made it work.  It was glorious.

“The best laid plans of Mice and Men oft go astray.”  Robert Burns

Eventually, after #3 was here, I hustled Market Day part-time for a couple of years, then landed a coveted school secretary gig, where I sit today, 8 years later. I now talk about pensions, retirement and 401k plans. Not what I planned on, not what I studied for, but I’m happy. So what will Riley’s job as a dishwasher at Manuel’s Taco Hut turn into one day? Computer programmer? Circus performer? HEAD dishwasher at Ruth Chris’ Steakhouse?  A Mom can dream. He doesn’t have any concrete plans for his future career right now, so who knows.

I don’t think anyone would argue that it doesn’t really matter what your first job is, just that you HAVE a job as a teen. You are responsible to someone else besides your parent for something with a good amount of importance attached to it, but not TOO important. I honestly think his job is gonna suck. Huge. But he’s strangely excited about it. Lord knows the kid knows how to spend money like it’s going out of style, so he’s gonna need to work, no matter what it is.  We spend at least 1/3 of our time at work, it’s impossible for it to not have a huge impact on nearly every element of our lives as we go about our business of living.  So Riley’s timeline begins with dishwasher…oh the possibilities.

“The best way to appreciate your job is to imagine yourself without one.” -Oscar Wilde


This is the text my son sent me this weekend.  “WTH?” It wasn’t WTF, so I was mildly happy about that.  But it still made my heart stop for just 1 second.  I mean, hell isn’t a bad word.  He didn’t even spell it out.  But he thought it. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. A swearing fire.

I remember the one and only time I hit Riley.  He was about 4. I was just around the corner from him, he didn’t know I was there.  I heard him say “God damn-it.” I spun around like I was a roller derby queen and slapped his face. I screamed at him, don’t you ever say that! He cried, I cried, it was a disaster. It was an out of body experience. I was so angry because when he said, it sounded like he knew exactly what he was saying.  Like he said it with purpose.  I don’t know if he did or not. Probably not. But it stung my ears like I had just touched a hot stove.  (Disclaimer #1: I’m not proud of hitting him, it still makes me cringe to think I did that.) He probably heard it from me or his Dad when we thought he wasn’t listening. (Disclaimer #2: I banned that word combination from my vocabulary ever since that day, and I hate even hearing it).  In that moment though, my parenting life flashed before my eyes. What have I done?  Where did I go wrong? I’m a child abuser! My son is going to prison, he’s obviously a serial killer in his early years.

He never said a bad word in front of me again. And Alex and Matthew haven’t ever said anything in front of me either.  The key words here being “in front of me.”  I heard him swear at the PS3 when he didn’t know I was on the other side of the basement.  I yelled back at him “watch your mouth when Mom is around!” He’s 16. I was swearing at 16 (sorry, Mom).  He’s a boy. He’s in high school. He’s heard it from TV shows, movies, soccer coaches, video games, friends and Dad, and myriad other places probably. But he won’t hear it from me. He’s still my almost-17-year-old-baby. And the truth is, I don’t want him cursing around me. At least not yet. I think I was well into my 30’s before I started using “shit” in front of my parents.  My Mom still doesn’t like it.

Anyone that knows me, knows that I was a truck driver in a previous life. Swearing is part of my ADULT vernacular. I am standing on a very unstable, rickety soap box here, I know that. I’m not looking for affirmation or sympathy. Just pondering that ever moving line in the sand of my children becoming adults. Riley texting me “WTH” is just a blip on the growing up radar. I guess I just tend to (purposefully try and) forget that not everything about becoming an adult is rainbows and unicorns. And that text was a quick reminder. Driver’s licence? Cool. Drinking alcohol at 21?  Scary. Graduating high school? Sweet. Paying thousands of dollars for college with no guarantee of a payoff or success?  Terrifying. First date? Charming. Long term teen relationship?  Oh dear God in Heaven, please give me strength.

Cursing is not a big deal in the scheme of things. But it’s symbolic. And I don’t like it. Even though that makes me a total and complete hypocrite here, I know that. Not the first time, won’t be the last. Regardless, I think I tend to take this growing up thing in stride. I am scared, but I truly TRY and stay in the moment and not freak out about what lies ahead. Worry never solved anything, right? When Matthew was still sucking his thumb later than he should, I didn’t worry, I knew he wouldn’t do it in his middle school math class. When Alex didn’t seem concerned that his pants didn’t match his shirts at age 9, I knew one day he’d give a crap about what he looked like in public. And Riley who once thought deodorant was optional, now uses more face creams and hair products than I do. These are good things, or at least “not a big deal” things.

It’s the “not so good things,’ the “really not ok things,” and the “big consequence things” that I have yet to come to terms with in a lot of areas. Only because they haven’t reared their ugly heads thus far. And they are hard to talk about with your kids. They don’t have to be. But they are. Let’s just say teenagers are not always receptive to a Mom talk. Who wants to talk about the tough stuff when other little stuff is going so well?  With teens, it seems like you are always walking a tightrope, walking on proverbial eggshells, not sure where the next breakdown will come from. You want to hold that balance, not upset the apple cart.  When it seems like the next argument or lecture is always just under the surface, you don’t want to broach the hard subjects. Sex, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll, drinking, college, failure, jobs, future, responsibility, career, moving out, girlfriends, disappointment.  The non-black and white, super gray, list is endless. I wish I had a happy ending for this, but I don’t. I’m still stuck in the thick of it. Some days it feels like quicksand, other days like quicksand in a tornado watching a tidal wave approach on the horizon. And some days it feels like the blessing that it is.

So for today, I’ll take my WTH text, a deep breath, and go on my merry way.

“We worry about what a child will become tomorrow, yet we forget that he is someone today.” -Stacia Taucher

Rational and Slightly Irrational Things That Bug Me

I hate the song “Happy.” It just bugs me. Plenty of songs I don’t like, I guess I just find it kind of ironic that I seriously don’t like this song.

Could HAVE, people.  Not “could of.”  The conjunction “could’ve” when unconjunctified is “could have.” Otherwise, the conjunction would be spelled “could’of.”

Strong winds are sooooo annoying. They mess up my hair and make it really unfun to watch kids sports outdoors.  I mean, there is no one to get mad at and blame it on. I think that is the part that bugs me the most, just get me a customer service number for crappy weather. Damn you Mother Nature!

Super hate the fact that I love pop and apparently it’s akin to drinking rat poison that manages to make you fat. Can I avoid it?  Sure. Do I want to? Hell no.  I would drink that sugar sweetness all day long if I were so inspired. A fountain Coke from McDonald’s? Yes, please! But I do resist most of the time, begrudgingly.

And maybe the #1 thing that bugs me (today anyway):  I loathe going to a baby or wedding shower and having to address my own thank you envelope. I think this is a relatively new breech of etiquette, maybe last 10 years or so? I know it wasn’t a thing when I was getting married or having babies 15-20 years ago. I get it, you’re busy, you’re having a baby, planning a wedding, blah, blah.  “We’re just trying to make it easier on the bride or mom-to-be,” says the hostesses. Here’s the deal. Too freaking bad. You (Ms. Bride or Expectant Mom) invited me to the shower, so I’m going to assume you have my address. I went out, bought you a gift, wrapped it and came to your party. I didn’t ask YOU to write our your own card, did I? I’m no stick-in-the-mud, trust me, but you can’t take 12 seconds and write my name and address on the envelope? Seriously? There’s no gray area here, people. You throw a party, you write thank you notes and don’t ask me to do 1/2 of it for you. Start to finish.

And don’t tell me that the envelopes are going to be how you draw names for prizes.  Truly, we all know this is a pathetic and lame cover up for the fact that you want me to do your work. 3 babies people, I get it. Tired, run down, doesn’t really matter, you find the time to do what’s right. Brides? You have NO excuse. While you are admiring all the $1,000s of dollars of nice shiny things you just received, take a minute and write down how thankful you are. And then put my address on the front of the envelope.

I know it will only take me 30 seconds to do it for you, but if we blur that line, then why stop there. Why bother having a party at all, just ask me to buy you a “gift” and we’ll just save everyone the time, money and hassle of following etiquette. I’m no stick-in-the-mud, believe me, but there are some things that just need to be done.  And I have to give props to my Mother-in-Law, who first voiced this etiquette catastrophe to me years ago. I knew it bugged me, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. She was and is 100% right about this.

Last but not least, I recently learned that only old people put 2 spaces after a period. I.  Can’t.  Stop.  Doing.  This.  I learned to type in 7th grade on a manual typewriter. Some 30 years later, this is a habit as ingrained in me as breathing. I’m trying to stop, but it’s like trying to stop smoking crack (which I’ve never smoked, but I hear it’s really hard to quit). It bugs me that that is one more box to mark off in the “I’m old” checklist. 😦

These things don’t keep me awake at night, but darn it all, when they rear their ugly heads, it’s like nails on a chalkboard to me. I’ll live to fight another day.

P.S.  To all my friends and family who have stopped to tell me that they enjoy my blogging adventure, and are liking or commenting on my posts on Facebook and on the WordPress site, thank you from the bottom of my heart. It truly makes me smile to hear that you enjoy my words. I’m enjoying it too 🙂

Anger much?

I had big plans for my latest blog.  But those plans have been set aside, washed away, and forgotten for the time being.  Spring break in Michigan, it doesn’t get any better than that.  Oh wait, yes it does.  Granted, I don’t work this week, kids are off school, I get to sleep in, but the weather still blows. Everyone I know drove to Florida. Not that I want to drive to Florida, but still, the weather disparity makes me green with envy.  So I’m already starting off on the wrong foot here in unbalmy, sunless Michigan.

I wake up, have some coffee, talk to a friend on the phone, then hear the garbage truck…F**K!  Riley’s car is in the street on trash day.  Of course we got a ticket.  And then to pour salt in the wound, MY car in MY driveway got a ticket for blocking the sidewalk.  I had moved it back yesterday so my kids and their cousins could play basketball since I was hosting Easter dinner at my house. The horror.  So now I’m raging.  Cursing, crumpling up the tickets.  I call Brendan, curse at him.  I rant on Facebook.  I don’t feel any better. The doorbell rings when I am in the shower, the phone rings off the hook.  Do I NOT have 3 able bodied children who can answer the door or answer the phone?!  It would appear that I don’t. So now I’m screaming bloody murder at them.  Then my youngest comes in from his run after only 8 minutes complaining that his knee hurts.  I tell him I guess you have to quit soccer and track now.  Not an unreasonable response, I think.

I get in my car to drive to the post office.  I am behind someone going 23 MPH.  Who gave this guy a license?  Are you kidding me?  Get out of my way!! Then I park behind a guy who is obviously going to the Tiger’s opening day game.  He’s wearing shorts (in 43 degree weather–genius), he’s bathed in cologne which chokes me to death, and I hate him just for his existence.  I’M not going to the Tiger’s opening day game.  More jealousy.

Now my negative self-talk is really wound up– I’m fat, I have crows feet, I need new jeans, but no way I’m going to a store to try them on (see previous “I’m fat” statement), I’m cold, why do I have to dust my house, my life is a miserable piece of crap and everyone on Facebook is living the dream.  I start blocking people and unfriending everyone who posts a picture of a palm tree, because they don’t deserve my friendship.  I text a couple of my REAL friends, who are here suffering in Michigan with me, and demand lunch out.  Don’t tell me no, I may kill you. Some boneless wings and a yummy salad later, I’m vented out and feeling better. I even left a good tip.

I was really twisted up in anger this morning over 2 parking tickets. It clouded my everything, I was in full lash out mode, at my kids, strangers, people in cars near me, everyone I know who is on vacation in a warm place, and my cats. Just because I could be, damn cats being all cat like.  And rationally I know I was only mad at my local police department for 2 stupid tickets that were completely valid, I just don’t happen to agree with their methodology. I wasn’t mad at my kids, or random people, or anyone who is on vacation or the Tigers game.  I go on vacation, just not this week. I go to Tigers games, just not today. My kids weren’t doing anything wrong, just being normal annoying kids. The guy with the cologne at the post office, he really is a jerk, scale back on the Drakkar, save the ozone, okay?  He deserved my evil stare.

I am Greek Orthodox, so this week is my Holy Week and Easter is this coming Sunday. This week more than any other, I really should be better. More insightful, more forgiving, more thankful, less envious, less angry, less self-absorbed.  I don’t get all roid rage angry like that very often, it’s unbecoming of a lady such as myself. And I do feel much lighter now that I’ve let it go. Oh sure, I’ll get angry again when I have to write the checks to the city (AKA Nazi, Germany), but not like I did this morning. What purpose did my anger serve? I honestly don’t know the answer to that question. I obviously didn’t deal with the whole situation very well. Shame, guilt, disappointment ensue. What a vicious circle anger is.

So lesson learned? Instead of spreading my anger to those near me, I will count the blessings in my life and spread happiness. Too simple of a solution?  Not this time 🙂 I will stop wishing for rain in Florida, I hope the Tigers win for all my friends who are there rooting them on, I’ll hug my kids and apologize for yelling at them, and I’ll thank my friends for letting me air my anger at lunch. It truly is good to be me. I’d do well to remember that next time I make a presidential bid for the looney tunes farm.