Last night was a good enough night. After work I got held up in traffic so that by the time I got to Laine’s daycare she was asleep, I try to get to her before that usually because I had to wake her up and get her to the car and she typically doesn’t do well going strait from sleep to uncomfortable chair of doom. She and I took a trip to the grocery store and the whole time I was there Laine kept wanting to be picked up so that she could reach for things on the shelf easier, then she wanted to be put back in the cart so she could chew on the nasty handlebar, then she wanted to be picked up and lay on my shoulder then she wanted to be put back into the cart to cry and be inconsolable for the rest of the shopping trip. Once I was done and got her into the car she cheered up. She sang to me and talked to me the whole way home and then was in the most wonderful mood ever for dad while he fed and bathed her as I was making dinner. After we ate Laine and I lounged on the couch for a while and watched the Italian Job. Mark Wahlberg makes her as happy as he makes me.
When she went down she crashed hard and didn’t wake up again until right as I was walking out the front door to leave for work. If the world ended today I could go on to whatever afterlife I get with a peaceful mind. I got to spend a good night with my kid and husband, cuddling and laughing and generally enjoying each others company. So this morning when I woke up late because I slept through my alarm clock I was okay with that. I just figured that I must be missing some accident or crazy man with a gun that is going to hold up the car that would have been me if I’d been there on time. So my calm had not been damaged; I was still in the glow of my good night. And when it took me almost a half an hour to fight through traffic just to get to the highway I was okay with that, there was a reason for it, and it probably had something to do with the Yeti rampaging down I45, knocking cars away like little Tonka trucks that that his little brother left in the bathroom to be stepped on in the dark. And when I got cut off twice in less than a minute by the same car that couldn’t decide what lane it wanted to be in, I was okay with that. I had some good music to sing along to and I had an excellent cup of gas station coffee to warm me up, so I could let some aggressive driver have their way because chances are they don’t have the coffee that I do and they don’t have a connection to music like I do, they probably listen to talk radio anyway. So their hostility is understandable to me, and I can let it go. I can allow them their bad mood; because if there is anything in life that I truly hate, it is someone telling me that I’m not allowed to feel the way I do. That brings us to my reason for typing this blog at all. I was making a cup of coffee earlier, just trying to get my day started, and I noticed that there was a mouse turd on the counter, so I dumped the coffee out, I emptied the coffee pot and started washing it out, scrubbing every surface of it and then set another pot to brew, because mice are dirty creatures and I’m not going to accidentally contract the plague because I drank from a carafe that a mouse made love to (for all I know). One of my coworkers asked me what I did to the coffee that was made and I told him, he then commented that there was a greater chance that there was no plague and I just wasted a good pot of coffee that there was of there being the plague and it surviving the brewing processes and would kill us all. That comment got so far under my skin that it was actually a part of me for a moment. It was a nothing comment but I guess that everything from this morning that I thought wasn’t bothering me was really just building up silently underneath the peace and joy that I so desperately wanted to keep. Now I’m sitting at my desk. I have a whatever cup of coffee, I’m listening to whatever music and typing a whatever blog that I may not even post because really, it’s whatever. And I know for a fact that if I were to try and explain the way I’m feeling to any of you you’d tell me to calm down and don’t be melodramatic. I know I’ve got a little crazy in me, my husband and person tell me that often enough. I know I’m an exaggerator, I take things that are maybe four out of ten stars of crazy and I make them eight. And when folks try to tell me “no no no, it’s only four stars crazy” I can’t understand why they think my crazy scale is the same as theirs. It’s eight, no, now that I think about it it’s more like twenty-three, but that’s because my scale goes to a million. When I’m told that I’m being unrealistic and not thinking in a normal logical way I don’t magically start thinking logical realistic thoughts, I don’t spontaneously quit being afraid of things. Just because people laugh at me doesn’t mean that I’m not afraid of little doors anymore. Just because there are scientific facts stating that sneezing seven times in a row doesn’t kill you doesn’t mean that I believe it. And just because some jerk with a bad attitude doesn’t believe that mice carry the plague anymore doesn’t mean I’m going to go and more or less lick a mouse’s face. I begin to question how it is that people who were once children with astonishing imaginations lost them, how they became people that like to steal all the wonder out of the world. My fears and rationalities are what make me who I am. My thought process is who I am. If I didn’t think the way I do I wouldn’t be me. And if I were me I’d be a boring ass person for sure. When I’m told that I’m crazy, or I get the “Okay Amanda, your right, clowns aren’t scary” with the rolley eyes and heavy sigh it makes me feel crazy, it makes me feel like thinking I’m just misunderstood is actually my crazy brain rationalizing for it’s crazy thoughts. It makes me think that I’m in my own world and that my world is wrong. I find it to be sad that I can start a day off with wonderfully peaceful thoughts and a warm loving feeling wrapped around me and then half way through the morning I end up not being able to give a crap even if you hooked me up to a crap-giving machine. It’s whatever.
Last night was a good enough night. After work I got held up in traffic so that by the time I got to Laine’s daycare she was asleep, I try to get to her before that usually because I had to wake her up and get her to the car and she typically doesn’t do well going strait from sleep to uncomfortable chair of doom. She and I took a trip to the grocery store and the whole time I was there Laine kept wanting to be picked up so that she could reach for things on the shelf easier, then she wanted to be put back in the cart so she could chew on the nasty handlebar, then she wanted to be picked up and lay on my shoulder then she wanted to be put back into the cart to cry and be inconsolable for the rest of the shopping trip. Once I was done and got her into the car she cheered up. She sang to me and talked to me the whole way home and then was in the most wonderful mood ever for dad while he fed and bathed her as I was making dinner. After we ate Laine and I lounged on the couch for a while and watched the Italian Job. Mark Wahlberg makes her as happy as he makes me. 
When she went down she crashed hard and didn’t wake up again until right as I was walking out the front door to leave for work. If the world ended today I could go on to whatever afterlife I get with a peaceful mind. I got to spend a good night with my kid and husband, cuddling and laughing and generally enjoying each others company. So this morning when I woke up late because I slept through my alarm clock I was okay with that. I just figured that I must be missing some accident or crazy man with a gun that is going to hold up the car that would have been me if I’d been there on time. So my calm had not been damaged; I was still in the glow of my good night. And when it took me almost a half an hour to fight through traffic just to get to the highway I was okay with that, there was a reason for it, and it probably had something to do with the Yeti rampaging down I45, knocking cars away like little Tonka trucks that that his little brother left in the bathroom to be stepped on in the dark. And when I got cut off twice in less than a minute by the same car that couldn’t decide what lane it wanted to be in, I was okay with that. I had some good music to sing along to and I had an excellent cup of gas station coffee to warm me up, so I could let some aggressive driver have their way because chances are they don’t have the coffee that I do and they don’t have a connection to music like I do, they probably listen to talk radio anyway. So their hostility is understandable to me, and I can let it go. I can allow them their bad mood; because if there is anything in life that I truly hate, it is someone telling me that I’m not allowed to feel the way I do. That brings us to my reason for typing this blog at all. I was making a cup of coffee earlier, just trying to get my day started, and I noticed that there was a mouse turd on the counter, so I dumped the coffee out, I emptied the coffee pot and started washing it out, scrubbing every surface of it and then set another pot to brew, because mice are dirty creatures and I’m not going to accidentally contract the plague because I drank from a carafe that a mouse made love to (for all I know). One of my coworkers asked me what I did to the coffee that was made and I told him, he then commented that there was a greater chance that there was no plague and I just wasted a good pot of coffee that there was of there being the plague and it surviving the brewing processes and would kill us all. That comment got so far under my skin that it was actually a part of me for a moment. It was a nothing comment but I guess that everything from this morning that I thought wasn’t bothering me was really just building up silently underneath the peace and joy that I so desperately wanted to keep. Now I’m sitting at my desk. I have a whatever cup of coffee, I’m listening to whatever music and typing a whatever blog that I may not even post because really, it’s whatever. And I know for a fact that if I were to try and explain the way I’m feeling to any of you you’d tell me to calm down and don’t be melodramatic. I know I’ve got a little crazy in me, my husband and person tell me that often enough. I know I’m an exaggerator, I take things that are maybe four out of ten stars of crazy and I make them eight. And when folks try to tell me “no no no, it’s only four stars crazy” I can’t understand why they think my crazy scale is the same as theirs. It’s eight, no, now that I think about it it’s more like twenty-three, but that’s because my scale goes to a million. When I’m told that I’m being unrealistic and not thinking in a normal logical way I don’t magically start thinking logical realistic thoughts, I don’t spontaneously quit being afraid of things. Just because people laugh at me doesn’t mean that I’m not afraid of little doors anymore. Just because there are scientific facts stating that sneezing seven times in a row doesn’t kill you doesn’t mean that I believe it. And just because some jerk with a bad attitude doesn’t believe that mice carry the plague anymore doesn’t mean I’m going to go and more or less lick a mouse’s face. I begin to question how it is that people who were once children with astonishing imaginations lost them, how they became people that like to steal all the wonder out of the world. My fears and rationalities are what make me who I am. My thought process is who I am. If I didn’t think the way I do I wouldn’t be me. And if I were me I’d be a boring ass person for sure. When I’m told that I’m crazy, or I get the “Okay Amanda, your right, clowns aren’t scary” with the rolley eyes and heavy sigh it makes me feel crazy, it makes me feel like thinking I’m just misunderstood is actually my crazy brain rationalizing for it’s crazy thoughts. It makes me think that I’m in my own world and that my world is wrong. I find it to be sad that I can start a day off with wonderfully peaceful thoughts and a warm loving feeling wrapped around me and then half way through the morning I end up not being able to give a crap even if you hooked me up to a crap-giving machine. It’s whatever.
2 comments:
Oh Amanda. If thats how you are then own it lady, dont let people ruin it for you. lol. If you want to believe that the sky is falling, then I will say "well hell we had better find some shelter" but in the same respect, sometimes you are comforted by people like me, who have over rational minds at times, calming your fears. Apparently today you were the camel with one too many straws on your back, and im sorry that is bummed out your Thursday. :( Im just glad that I wasnt the one who put the last straw there... lol.
I love you baby girl.
Post a Comment