Well… not the best weekend for me really. I didn’t “Lose my temper“, but I wasn’t zen Buddha-on-the-mountain for some parts. I could feel my blood boil twice to the point where I think by almost anyone’s standards it would count as a strike against me, once on Saturday morning and once on Sunday night. Here’s the thing though — am I supposed to confess every tense moment where maybe I didn’t handle something with the grace and mellowness of Obama??? It was a complex weekend! But maybe so. Maybe that is the point of all of this. The point of this year-long project is to exorcise will power not just over the big blow outs (which, I would ike to say, are not that frequent – since I started this blog, people are now asking me, “Did you lose your temper yet? like I was Mike Tyson), but the smaller impatient-mood-swingy-fed-up moments as well.
Here was my problem this weekend. I reacted to everything. I’m a reactor. I have a sizable emotional response to almost everything that happens to me. Almost nothing rolls off my back. I am the opposite of a duck. I am a hedge hog. It can be a good thing, like, I am really fun when an awesome song comes on the radio because I don’t take it for granted — I dance and thank heaven for the band, and maybe I’ll hug the person next to me out of sheer joy. Or as I told you, last week, I wept taking our beloved bird, Bobby, home from the store. I wept because when we took him, he had to leave his little, green brother. His left-behind brother was clutching the side of the cage and chirping desperately, “Please don’t take him!” Tears streamed down my face as I signed the bill for the bird food. I couldn’t hide it from Kate and Daniel the bird breeders who were standing there looking slightly embarrassed for me. “Separation happens in the wild,” Kate said trying to be comforting. And when something unpleasant happens I react to that as well. Living with me during the last election must have been a nightmare because Sarah Palin ENRAGED me.
So last night a NY Times article about private school education in NYC gave me a grand moll anxiety attack about education in general. My own kids education… my attempts to try to make that experience as good as I can for them… Is it good enough? Is is not? Am I doing all that I can? What about Mandarin? Somehow, that lead to my book that is unwritten… snowball, snowball, snowball. And then I lost my mind a bit. I tried to watch Downton Abbey to shake it off. I tried to disengage from the topic, and everyone in the house (not counting kids – they were asleep and untouched by this episode). I FORGOT to meditate which had WORKED for me the day before… I was unsuccessfully disengaging from that article for HOURS. I just couldn’t stop my anxieties and worries from running wild, and, needless to say, I wasn’t pleasant to be around. What I wanted was for God or Glenda the Good Witch to come down and say, “sweetie, it’s all going to be okay. I promise.” But they didn’t show up — and I couldn’t find that voice in my own self.
I think what Wonder-shrink would say is, it doesn’t matter if you are freaking out, you can’t take it out on anyone. And that is right — but I failed because, I’m still learning. And truthfully, the thought that I may not be able to give my children the best possible education on the planet makes me want to cry and get mad at someone. See – I’m a reactor.
Anyway, do I have to start again? I didn’t yell… I was just dark and stormy.
Tomorrow I begin a new program for writing my novel. It’s called, the can’t-go-to-spin-class-program. There simply isn’t time for me to do a whole gym thing, get to the library, write the amount I need to, and do all the kids stuff — but I’m scared because a good spin is KEY to staying mellow. Whatever! Some of this feels like boring navel gazing!!!! Ahhhh! But I started it so…