Ya know, I really get on my own nerves...

I annoy myself, but I've decided it's okay.  I'm not sure if it's just one thing or if it's a lot of things that fall under a general umbrella of annoyance.  Whatever it is, I decided it was okay on the drive home today and just sang my way down the road to some Indigo Girls.

Most of my life has been spent on the verge of some health-related acronym.  Borderline OCD or ADD or some other something something.  I was never one to go through the house turning off lights repeatedly, but I had to have things "in their boxes" in order to keep that panic tucked in the mental footlocker.  As for the ADD, well, let's say there are times I start folding laundry and somehow end up scrubbing the bathroom only to find when I go back through the house, the laundry is still unfolded and somehow the dishwasher is open, too.  Not sure how that happens, but it's my life.

Lately there have been things that I've not executed with my usual OMG attitude.  We went out of town recently and I didn't pack two weeks before.  When my better half left today at what I consider "Oh, SHIT!" time to pick up the kids, I didn't say a word.  I started to get worked up about it, but thought to myself, "Why?"  I can't change the situation, so what's the point?

Letting a lot of the shitastic weight of life roll off my shoulders these days is what leads to the annoyance of me by me.  I used to stress and worry and perfect things.  I realized the other day I wasn't compulsively color-coding and alphabetizing some spreadsheets I was working on.  Mind you, these habits don't help the process or make it more understandable.  I just like it to be pretty:)  I typed it up and sent it on.  Something is amiss, I say!

So here's my list of why I get on my own nerves.
1. I promise myself I'm not going to care what others think, yet when I behave in that manner I spend the next month analyzing my every move.  It's not like I acted bad...I didn't dance naked on a table or wear white before Easter.  I just made random conversation or laughed. Ughh! Then I decide it's easier to stay in my cave, but then I realize that won't work either...and the cycle repeats.

2.  I'm not THAT mom.  Honestly, I'm tired at the end of the day.  As much as I'd like to take the kids to the park to feed not-so-wild animals or expose them to some culture, there just ain't enough gas in the tank.  If they want to be fed and wear clean clothes, then that will have to wait till the weekend or until a grandparent feels sorry for them.  As much as I wish I could be the perky mom with nary a dilemma, they're stuck with grumpy, chaotic me.

3.  I may be a tad indecisive.  Or maybe a lot indecisive.  I'm not sure.  Big decisions make me sweat way more than a southern girl should, so I just ignore them.  None of my children were planned in that "We're trying!" kinda way.  That would've been too much pressure.  We talk about trying to sell our house, but it scares me, so I'm waiting on my better half to make the call.  My response is usually, "I don't care."  It would take entirely too long for me to debate the pros and cons for each option, so we can accomplish more if you make the decision.  

4.  My husband says I have conversational Tourette's.  I like to think it's my genius at work and only a small number of brains universally can leap this fast within such a small window of time.  His simple comment on a billboard can lead me into a 30 minute commentary on a childhood memory with no obvious connection to his.  In my mind, though, it makes sense.  He talks about the kids needing milk, and my mind goes something like this:  milk, cow, uncle's farm as a kid, sitting on fence rail, falling in cow shit, cousin's too-small shorts...So my response is, "Ya know, I always was kind of a chubby kid."  And he thinks I'm an alien.

5.  My mix CD's and playlists are without direction.  I love them because at the moment I chose them, they were exactly what I wanted to hear.  As I drove home today, though, I heard New Edition (tell me baby, can you stand the rain?) then Nine Inch Nails' Pretty Hate Machine followed up with Charlie Daniels Band.  Not on different stations, but all on one CD.  If this is a reflection of my personality, I'm in trouble.

I suppose that part of my learning to breathe has to be about letting "it" go.  I can't worry about every little snit of a thing, because, frankly, there just aren't enough hours in my day.  So I suppose I will continue to overanalyze myself, hold DCS at bay (kidding!), procrastinate about decisions, and hopscotch through conversations all the while listening to Anthrax and Suzanne Vega.  As long as I'm breathing, it's all good.

A Year of Grateful (or "Hey, Depression, kiss my ass!")

I have begun a new project: A year of being grateful. I always thank God for my children and the other obvious things, but somehow that wasn't enough. I read an article recently about a man who declared he could not receive anything in his life until he expressed his gratitude for the "stuff" he already had. It sparked something in me, because I was always wishing for the next thing. Not necessarily material things, but just the next step. I didn't enjoy the place I was in because I was already moving on to the next.

Then depression sat me on my ass.

And brought a deathly fear of medication.

It is possible to take medication to help with depression, except when you have a true phobia about pills. Yeah. What the hell do I take to make it okay to take the pill? See the problem? So, I've had to find other ways to keep myself off the ledge and out of the knife drawer. My answer after reading this article, was to begin a year of finding out what I am grateful for. To keep things interesting, I am also finding ways to pay it forward, so to speak.

My first task was to write a thank-you note to my principal for all the generous things she does for me. Cheap, fast, and heartfelt. Next I decided to buy breakfast for the person behind me at McDonalds. She yelled "Thank you! Have a good day!" And I did. My third endeavor was a little closer to home. Many, many years ago, there was a split in my family that caused me to lose contact with a family member. This person is going through a terrible time, so I sent him a note to tell him I was thinking of him and maybe we could have coffee sometime.

So far, so good. I enjoy being kind, because part of my happiness depends on believing in the goodness of humanity. I have to believe that not every person is looking to rape, kill, or rob me. I have to believe that every person who doesn't look like me doesn't want to hate me. It is important to me that people know they are loved by someone, somewhere.

Depression is hanging out less and less in the corners of my mind. That's a good thing. In the process, I'm hopefully making someone else smile....while flipping the bird to depression!