3 years ago
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
I forgot my cell phone at home today.
I have chosen to believe that this is the reason for the tightness in my throat and chest and arms and all those other lovely symptoms of a low-level anxiety attack. Because honestly, I am so tired of the drama.
It's my own drama, mind you. I live it, I fight it, I even create it. (I know, big surprise.)
But I am tired of it. And lately I've been feeling that urge to just run away and leave it all behind. Yesterday I chose to bury myself in bed and force myself to take a brief nap rather than call work and tell them I'd be gone for another couple of days, so sorry, can't be helped, and drive Somewhere, Anywhere. Even though it would only be for 48 hours because I will be there on Wednesday to pick up my boys from daycare. It would have been a temporary running-away. I'm not leaving my children.
That's for damn certain.
Running away doesn't solve anything, though, so I slept for about twenty minutes instead and then got up and did some grading and read some of a fascinating critical analysis of Tolkein's work (which even inspired me to underline and comment in the margins all academic-like) and exercised for about forty minutes and ate spaghetti and very consciously chose to Chill Out.
I should probably do this more often. Well, except for the spaghetti part, though I am looking forward to my leftovers at lunch. Tonight I will have barbequed chicken and I'm thinking perhaps there should be something green and vegetably as a side.
Stress and anxiety are generally agreed as being Bad For Your Health, and I've been evidencing this lately. Among other things, I've been increasingly klutzy, which can be rather embarassing when the evidence cannot be hidden easily. Last week I managed to get all distracted and close the door to my car's trunk on my head.
Done laughing? Good. Let me explain, just a little. My car (a Saturn Vue) was in a closed garage with enough space to open the trunk and place things inside, but not enough to stand directly behind it while doing so. I had been putting things in the trunk and got distracted by some falling leftovers in the bag in my hand and tried to close the door.
My head kinda sorta got trapped between the (closed) garage door and the car door. Which left a nice big bleeding dent in my forehead. Right in the middle, where my hair will not cover it. I also had some nice lumps elsewhere on my head, though I didn't notice them until much later, after the throbbing faded in my forehead.
I am proud to say that I managed to refrain from crying or screaming. I applied ice and waited almost an hour to make sure I wasn't concussed before I drove away.
It's been interesting to watch the progression of the gash. It's been even more interesting to field the questions I get from everyone. Those who do not know me well ask if alcohol was involved. There are also the looks of concern that say, very clearly, Yeah right. You hit your head on a door? That's an old one. Quite a few mothers assume one or both of my children must have been at fault.
The general response to my (truthful and self-deprecating) explaination is...laughter. Some people are more polite and at least TRY to conceal their mirth. Others just guffaw.
Because no one else can make me feel any stupider about it than I already do. And I'm okay with that.
Obviously, having a Master's degree does not mean a person is always all that bright. And I can't be perfect all the time. That would be too boring.
God forbid that I be boring. Then I really would have something to panic about.