It is unclear to me, as it has been for the past week or so, if my almost perpetual waves of nausea are due to stress and/or impending panic attack (which I have only very narrowly avoided), due to my strange peckish eating habits (which may be due to the stress), or if it is all tied to hormones.
I let a lot of stuff go this past week.
My stress levels being what they were, I focused on just getting through each day without falling apart, which meant that I did not:
· Cook a meal past last Monday
· Clean any dishes at all the entire week, to the point that we ran out of clean forks so I started using spoons instead
· Call my Nanny on her birthday (because I’d already forgotten to buy her a card in time to put it in the mail in time)*
· Buy Father’s Day cards for my dad, John’s dad, or John’s grandpa (to put in the mail in time to get it there in time)*
· Buy Father’s Day gifts for my dad of father-in-law*
· Cook Father’s Day lunch for my family at my house, as has become the tradition*
*Add a layer of Bonus Mother Guilt
When we were out at lunch on Father’s Day, and I got the Disappointed Mother Look when it came to light that I had *not* been able to call my grandmother on her birthday, despite reminders from both of my parents the day before, it was all I could do to not throttle my mom. HELLO. WOMAN. Do you not remember the near-hysterical phone call you got from me last week, in which I unloaded to you all of the plates I have spinning, the same one in which I asked for reassurance that I am, in fact, a Good Person, and am trying to do the Right Thing, and that I am *CAPABLE* of doing the Right Thing???
This is all just too much, when coupled with my still-festering annoyance at her embarrassing outburst the other day (in which, at a work event, surrounded by strangers and colleagues, I was called up to receive an award, my mother exclaimed “THAT’S MY LITTLE GIRL!”, much to my mortification, because I am twenty-effing-eight years old – we are not in the high school gymnasium for Freshman Year-End Awards), PLUS her inability to pay attention while I’m trying to show her (at her whining request) how to upload pictures to Facebook because Look! Andy Griffith! On the TV! Oh, that Opie! WOMAN. It is ANDY GODDAMN GRIFFITH. Every episode follows the same pattern –
1. Andy is so clever!
2. Opie/Goober/Aunt Bea/Barney gets into a pickle, because they do not follow Andy’s advice!
3. Oh no, what to do? Worried look/dramatic music – CUT TO COMMERCIAL.
4. Andy swoops in and saves the day with his down-home wisdom!
5. Opie/Goober/Aunt Bea/Barney learns a lesson!
6. Let’s drink iced tea on the porch together! THE END
At any rate, my patience with her within the past week has gone from Worn to Thin to Please Leave My Home Before I Say Things I Regret Except Maybe I Won’t That Much But You Will Pout About It For Weeks And I Am Just Not In The Mood To Look At Your Face Anymore. When I gave the very clear It Is Time For You To Leave Now Before I Start Yelling cues, she acted all pissy and called me mean for kicking her out, and I was like Dude, you don’t know from mean yet – IloveyouokaybyebyePLEASEGO.
I should specify, my patience for anything or anyone is stretched, and again, I don’t know if it’s because of the stress or the hormones or both plus the effort it takes for me to hold my shit together on top of both of that which makes me grumpy and also very restless at night.
I don’t know exactly what this is about, except an explanation for being kind of crazy lately. SORRY. GOD.