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.
It's okay.
Really.
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.
8 bits of love:
I once sprained my neck and shoulder (badly) while readjusting the pillow while I was trying to sleep in on a Saturday morning.
It was fun calling in to work and explaining that I couldn't move my neck or right arm because I'd sprained it on my pillow.
*hugs*
I notice you pointed out there was no crying or screaming. You did not, however, point out that no Choice Words were uttered. As I imagine they were.
40 minutes of exercise? Color me IMPRESSED!!
Car door? Yeah. And the mark on your neck is from a curling iron, right?
Been there, my dear. Keep up that exercising thing: I hear it helps! (My own fledgling new year exercise has already made me feel more focused than I've felt in...years. I might write a post about why things that are good for us are so damn hard to sustain. Would love to figure that one out...)
Congratulations! You did not run away (even temporarily). You did not lie about what happened. You have made some very healthy choices (sleep, real food, exercise: WOW!!). You are inventorying your stress level and giving yourself grace regarding the glaring results of said stress. And you know what: that klutz thing, under stress, is another inherited gene. From guess who! Sorry about that. Be careful -- and take it from one who knows, be especially careful while driving when under the influence of stress! (Meanwhile, don't forget to pray, and to throw your burdens in that Right Direction to the One who can help with the load.) I admit it, hon, you did make me smile, but I definitely smile with empathy. Hugs . . .
I believe I mentioned my head gash many moons ago. Long story short: I was at work, we had a busy lunch, I had exactly a minute to smoke a cigarette (I still did that then) and while opening my lower locker to retrieve the nicotine goodness, the locker above also opened and lacerated my forehead. It bled forever, and I had to have it glued back together. I may have taken off the band-aid before meeting Nate, but if I know me, I totally went to the bar looking like that.
In other news, YAY for the exercise and the potential for green vegetables! In Nate's dreamland I eat 5 small and nutritional meals a day per the suggestion of my physicians.
Hey. I've done that too, but in my driveway for all the world to see. One day I was in such a multi-tasking tizzy that I reached up to slam the trunk door shut while my head is still in the trunk. aargh
Sorry there was blood.
Hey, just be glad you only get klutzy when you're tired or anxious. I got the "perma-klutzy" genes (was that from your side, mom???). MuttonChops Hubby has suggested I not be allowed in the kitchen, since I cut or peal or burn or bruise myself every time I cook. However, he's never taken me up on the "okay, let's make that an official rule" suggestion. Mom was totally wrong when she said I'd grow out of my klutziness when I was done with adolescence... (By the way, the fact that people laughed at your explanation is a good sign, it means they're not sticking to their original conclusions on how you got injured).
Love,
SoccerSister
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