Well folks, it's Talk Me Down Tuesday. I had a helluva week last week, so it was very much needed. And, as I often do, I'm working it all out right here in my blog.
Today's session started out with me running down the list of things that have been going on in my life to The Rug Doctor. I know I'm seeing the right person because after I finish, she says, "You are doing remarkably well, you didn't kill anyone or anything!" At least the bar is set appropriately. I told her how I had to say good-bye to my boss of two and a half years and how hard that was. We had such a great working relationship and she has become someone I really genuinely care about. She had our best interest at heart and fought for us and protected us at work. Her leaving left me feeling vulnerable and sad, but then they brought in one of my previous bosses to temporarily fill-in. While I was happy to see the previous boss, I was full of mixed emotions. Like someone just gave me a puppy that I knew I would never be allowed to keep. I've never been able to keep any of my bosses. They all keep escaping. I mean leaving. I wasn't holding any of them hostage, I promise.
I went on to tell The Rug Doctor that I had to wear my big girl panties all week. Honestly, they bind and pinch and they aren't comfortable to wear. There is no joy in sucking it up, putting the brave face forward, acting like everything is okay, like it is all for the best, like you're happy for someone getting to move on. Like change is good. Like we have to have faith. Bullshit.
I told her that I was brave all week. I looked people in the eye that I know are miserable, manipulative, ugly people inside and I was polite, because that is what I had to do. And I know karma is supposed to work that stuff out, but honestly, it's hard to wait. I looked my friends in the eyes and told them I was fine. I moved forward and did what I needed to do. I didn't get to spend time being sad. I took care of business. What I really wanted to do was to go bury my face in my pony's mane and cry, but there was no time for that. And then we had Shark Bait's parents over for the weekend. There was no decompression time and so I found myself sitting in The Rug Doctor's office saying how I didn't know how I had my shit together, but somehow I did. I gave a little shout out to Effexor and the unlimited chocolate I had consumed.
I went on to share how I hadn't really broke until last night when I was on my way home and I saw this homeless guy on the corner as I got off the freeway. He was old and wrapped in a blanket. He was holding a sign that said he was super hungry. Not just hungry, he was SUPER Hungry. At that moment I was so deeply sad that I didn't have any food to give to him and that it wasn't like I could just stop traffic and go ask what he needed. Why was it this guy I had so much compassion for? Most of the people on that corner are meth-heads and I look the other way. Was this guy talking to my inner fat girl? Was she like, "This guy...THIS GUY is SUPER hungry!!! Feed him!!!" I don't know. Can a soul starve? Maybe my soul is starving? I think it needs ice cream, frankly.
Anyway, the Rug Doctor went on to say that there are extremes of compassion. On one end is Kim Kardashian breaking a nail and on the other end is the Super Hungry homeless guy. Each of us is somewhere in the middle of that scale. We have to keep perspective on that. We can't compare where we are compared to that person. That person's feelings are valid and so are ours. I told her I didn't know how compassionate I was because if there are only two cookies left, guess who's getting those two cookies? Me. Not one for Shark Bait and one for me...both are mine." She said that cookies don't count, that is a whole different thing. This is a relief to know that I don't have to share with Shark Bait. He would share his with me, but I wouldn't share mine with him. It's not that I'm a bad person, I just have a cookie superiority complex with the belief that cookies are better served in the hands of Angry Pony. We need cookies to survive. Kind of like vampires sucking your blood. They aren't bad people, they are just thirsty and you have blood, they need blood, it's just how it is.
This just got weird.
I told The Rug Doctor about the conversation I had with my mother just before the appointment today. I told her that mom told me that my grandma is going to move farther away and grandma said who cares because she's only going to live a little bit longer anyway. My brother is depressed and we are worried about his health. Mom isn't using her sleep apnea machine, which isn't good for her heart not to use it. Some other drama I can't mention, and that she needed to clean the chicken coop, which in itself is not stressful, but the fact that mom really would rather be cleaning the chicken coop than talk to me caused things to escalate and so I said, "Great, Grandma's dying, my brother is going to die, you're going to die because you're aren't using your machine and there I am, waiting to die..." And then, my loving mother, in her most matter of fact tone says, "Well, none of us are going to have to worry about any of that if North Korea has their say." I sat there stunned...what the fuck? Clearly, I had missed a very important Facebook update. I said, "What?" She says, "Yeah, they are going to bomb us with nuclear warfare, we'll all be dead." What else was left to say? "Well, Mom, this was uplifting. You go work on that chicken coop."
The Rug Doctor says I can't spend a lot of time worrying about that. Like I have to put a priority on my worry. Worry about immediate imminent things, but only a little bit, because that is normal, but don't spend a lot of time dwelling on what I can't control. I told her the worry has to go somewhere. It comes out in my dreams. And, I didn't want worry or stress coming out of me like it did for this woman I heard about at work. I guess her tampon caught on fire. I'm not lying. I've seen the pictures of the little tampon disposal container. It had black scorch marks on it and I saw the picture of the tampon after the fire had been put out. Look, if some woman was so pissed that her tampon caught on fire, that is a serious health concern that I, for one, am not going to take lightly. I don't want a smoking vagina. If your tampon is so hot it catches on fire, as far as I'm concerned, that is a reasonable excuse for missing work. Like, "hey boss, I'm not feeling well, my tampon just caught on fire, I'm gonna go lay down and put an ice pack on the hootch" is a totally reasonable thing to say. I didn't know it was even a thing that could happen. I mean, the reality is, some chick probably lit a cigarette in the loo and flicked it in the tampon container thing. But we don't know that. As far as I'm concerned, a smoking vagina is a legit thing.
So, that kind of rounded out our therapy session. I mean, once you've talked about smoking vagina's, what else is there to say? Not much, really. With that said, I'm supposed to give myself a pat on the back for surviving this past week, I'm supposed to focus on not worrying until it's time to worry. She doesn't think the North Korea thing is critical today, so I can store that for later. I can wear loose fitting clothing during shark week to prevent over-heating and I can try and enjoy the time I have now. And, I can choose coping mechanisms like when I wrote that blog tribute to my mom several months back, that was my way of taking care of the worry that my mom would never know how much I loved her. That idea inspired me, actually. I'm thinking about starting a series of blogs saying goodbye to people or things that are important to me, in case I never really get the chance. Like, my pony, my dog, my husband, my other family members, my friends, my cell phone, my job, my FCD, ice cream...you know, the stuff that deserves a proper tribute. I'll think more on that because I'm pretty sure if I wrote a tribute to my job right now...probably not my best career move. Maybe I'll focus on saying good-bye to submitting tickets about shit floating around on the floor in the mens room. It'd be a real tear-jerker, I can promise you that.
Until next time, keep your bits ventilated and don't worry, be happy...
Today's session started out with me running down the list of things that have been going on in my life to The Rug Doctor. I know I'm seeing the right person because after I finish, she says, "You are doing remarkably well, you didn't kill anyone or anything!" At least the bar is set appropriately. I told her how I had to say good-bye to my boss of two and a half years and how hard that was. We had such a great working relationship and she has become someone I really genuinely care about. She had our best interest at heart and fought for us and protected us at work. Her leaving left me feeling vulnerable and sad, but then they brought in one of my previous bosses to temporarily fill-in. While I was happy to see the previous boss, I was full of mixed emotions. Like someone just gave me a puppy that I knew I would never be allowed to keep. I've never been able to keep any of my bosses. They all keep escaping. I mean leaving. I wasn't holding any of them hostage, I promise.
I went on to tell The Rug Doctor that I had to wear my big girl panties all week. Honestly, they bind and pinch and they aren't comfortable to wear. There is no joy in sucking it up, putting the brave face forward, acting like everything is okay, like it is all for the best, like you're happy for someone getting to move on. Like change is good. Like we have to have faith. Bullshit.
I told her that I was brave all week. I looked people in the eye that I know are miserable, manipulative, ugly people inside and I was polite, because that is what I had to do. And I know karma is supposed to work that stuff out, but honestly, it's hard to wait. I looked my friends in the eyes and told them I was fine. I moved forward and did what I needed to do. I didn't get to spend time being sad. I took care of business. What I really wanted to do was to go bury my face in my pony's mane and cry, but there was no time for that. And then we had Shark Bait's parents over for the weekend. There was no decompression time and so I found myself sitting in The Rug Doctor's office saying how I didn't know how I had my shit together, but somehow I did. I gave a little shout out to Effexor and the unlimited chocolate I had consumed.
I went on to share how I hadn't really broke until last night when I was on my way home and I saw this homeless guy on the corner as I got off the freeway. He was old and wrapped in a blanket. He was holding a sign that said he was super hungry. Not just hungry, he was SUPER Hungry. At that moment I was so deeply sad that I didn't have any food to give to him and that it wasn't like I could just stop traffic and go ask what he needed. Why was it this guy I had so much compassion for? Most of the people on that corner are meth-heads and I look the other way. Was this guy talking to my inner fat girl? Was she like, "This guy...THIS GUY is SUPER hungry!!! Feed him!!!" I don't know. Can a soul starve? Maybe my soul is starving? I think it needs ice cream, frankly.
Anyway, the Rug Doctor went on to say that there are extremes of compassion. On one end is Kim Kardashian breaking a nail and on the other end is the Super Hungry homeless guy. Each of us is somewhere in the middle of that scale. We have to keep perspective on that. We can't compare where we are compared to that person. That person's feelings are valid and so are ours. I told her I didn't know how compassionate I was because if there are only two cookies left, guess who's getting those two cookies? Me. Not one for Shark Bait and one for me...both are mine." She said that cookies don't count, that is a whole different thing. This is a relief to know that I don't have to share with Shark Bait. He would share his with me, but I wouldn't share mine with him. It's not that I'm a bad person, I just have a cookie superiority complex with the belief that cookies are better served in the hands of Angry Pony. We need cookies to survive. Kind of like vampires sucking your blood. They aren't bad people, they are just thirsty and you have blood, they need blood, it's just how it is.
This just got weird.
I told The Rug Doctor about the conversation I had with my mother just before the appointment today. I told her that mom told me that my grandma is going to move farther away and grandma said who cares because she's only going to live a little bit longer anyway. My brother is depressed and we are worried about his health. Mom isn't using her sleep apnea machine, which isn't good for her heart not to use it. Some other drama I can't mention, and that she needed to clean the chicken coop, which in itself is not stressful, but the fact that mom really would rather be cleaning the chicken coop than talk to me caused things to escalate and so I said, "Great, Grandma's dying, my brother is going to die, you're going to die because you're aren't using your machine and there I am, waiting to die..." And then, my loving mother, in her most matter of fact tone says, "Well, none of us are going to have to worry about any of that if North Korea has their say." I sat there stunned...what the fuck? Clearly, I had missed a very important Facebook update. I said, "What?" She says, "Yeah, they are going to bomb us with nuclear warfare, we'll all be dead." What else was left to say? "Well, Mom, this was uplifting. You go work on that chicken coop."
The Rug Doctor says I can't spend a lot of time worrying about that. Like I have to put a priority on my worry. Worry about immediate imminent things, but only a little bit, because that is normal, but don't spend a lot of time dwelling on what I can't control. I told her the worry has to go somewhere. It comes out in my dreams. And, I didn't want worry or stress coming out of me like it did for this woman I heard about at work. I guess her tampon caught on fire. I'm not lying. I've seen the pictures of the little tampon disposal container. It had black scorch marks on it and I saw the picture of the tampon after the fire had been put out. Look, if some woman was so pissed that her tampon caught on fire, that is a serious health concern that I, for one, am not going to take lightly. I don't want a smoking vagina. If your tampon is so hot it catches on fire, as far as I'm concerned, that is a reasonable excuse for missing work. Like, "hey boss, I'm not feeling well, my tampon just caught on fire, I'm gonna go lay down and put an ice pack on the hootch" is a totally reasonable thing to say. I didn't know it was even a thing that could happen. I mean, the reality is, some chick probably lit a cigarette in the loo and flicked it in the tampon container thing. But we don't know that. As far as I'm concerned, a smoking vagina is a legit thing.
So, that kind of rounded out our therapy session. I mean, once you've talked about smoking vagina's, what else is there to say? Not much, really. With that said, I'm supposed to give myself a pat on the back for surviving this past week, I'm supposed to focus on not worrying until it's time to worry. She doesn't think the North Korea thing is critical today, so I can store that for later. I can wear loose fitting clothing during shark week to prevent over-heating and I can try and enjoy the time I have now. And, I can choose coping mechanisms like when I wrote that blog tribute to my mom several months back, that was my way of taking care of the worry that my mom would never know how much I loved her. That idea inspired me, actually. I'm thinking about starting a series of blogs saying goodbye to people or things that are important to me, in case I never really get the chance. Like, my pony, my dog, my husband, my other family members, my friends, my cell phone, my job, my FCD, ice cream...you know, the stuff that deserves a proper tribute. I'll think more on that because I'm pretty sure if I wrote a tribute to my job right now...probably not my best career move. Maybe I'll focus on saying good-bye to submitting tickets about shit floating around on the floor in the mens room. It'd be a real tear-jerker, I can promise you that.
Until next time, keep your bits ventilated and don't worry, be happy...
