Can we talk for a minute?
It's no secret that I am a bit nuts, but the last month or so of out of my head weeping has GOT to go. I've watched the West Wing series at least nine times, but every time it's over I am left bereft and in a massive puddle of tears and damp hankies.
Last night, though, was a total meltdown of epic proportions. It ended with me...sitting on my bedroom closet clutching Stewey's little robe and bawling my eyes out like a deranged two year old having a tantrum. (I think I wandered in there to change from my sweats into my pajamas and the sight of his little robe sent me right over the edge, but I'm not exactly sure.) All I do know is that I finally made it to the big girl sleigh bed at 4am hiccupping with eyes swollen shut and a blotchy face.
When I finally made it to the coffee pot today I decided to place a call to Melfi...my mental health guru to ask her just what the heck I could do about all of this. (Yup...here's my big confession for the day. I have been talking to Melfi for about a year to try to make sense of my stupid life.)
(It was either that or a stroke from all of the stress.)
(I opted for an hour or so every few weeks instead.)
So Melfi listened carefully as I explained that I am over the proverbial edge and round the proverbial bend and then she calmly and soothingly told me to just...be. And if that meant that I ended up on the floor of my closet watering the front of my t-shirt with snot and tears...so be it. She also reminded me that I have quite the Bermuda Triangle of crap happening to me at the moment...some of it very real, some of it physical, some of it circumstancial, and most of it in my head...but that it was happening nonetheless and the only thing I could do was control how I reacted to it.
Ahhhh, control. My evil, evil nemesis.
There isn't one single solitary lousy rotten stinking thing in my life that I can control right about now...except this:
So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go wash my face and brush my hair and eat my bagel and get on with it. I have Grocery Guild tonight, and I am so looking forward to seeing my stitchy sisters, having a laugh or two, and controlling the Bejeezus outta some linen and thread, I almost can't stand it.
Thank you for listening. It's not often that I reveal my soft underbelly (despite the fact that it is about as big and obvious as a Buick), but I figured that, if nothing else, you would feel like a successful, well-adjusted, brilliant rock star by comparison. No need to thank me, kids...just here to remind you that every village needs its idiot and yours is just happy to be of service!