Whooooweeeee. Last weekend was a little tough for me. Somewhere in between magically receiving a bag of clothes that all fit perfectly and making 48 cupcakes my depression slid way deep into my soul.
I think I am pretty good at masking it though. I mean, after all I did come to work today! Ass Kicker mom asked what spurred the depression and anxiety to come back and basically eat me alive. The only answer I had was a stupid one though. A poptart crumbled into a thousand un- vacuum-able pieces in my car. I have a trillion dollars of decorations from party city for work in my trunk, one movie theater drive ate 1/4th tank of gas in my incredibly fuel-efficient car. I had 37 pounds of laundry on my floor and not nearly enough dry shampoo to make the slightest of a difference. And for some reason all of these things combined made me lose my mind. I fell into a dark hole of things I couldn’t control or fix right away so I basically became mashed potato brain.
And I know, I know I totally sound bat shit crazy.
But you just have to deal even when shit gets tough. So I put my 37 pounds of laundry away, slathered myself in oils, and cleaned my place in prep for what was another week of high demands.
Then came Monday like a swift kick in the ass. Tuesday ran past like a stampede of elephants on cracked parched land. Wednesday, well was supposed to be my catch up day- but I must have been high to think that would actually work out the way I wanted. Thursday was 10 straight hours for an event- but with a lot of dessert- so there’s that. Finally Friday ended in a craze.
Another week behind me. Learning my divorce isn’t final and my ex’s lawyers are the most agitating people on the planet. Learning sperm donors early release was granted. Learning I am a total and utter control freak that cracks when things don’t go as planned.
And that brought us back to another weekend to either make or break our entire mood, existence, life. To say that I was starving for some sort of “recharging” would be an understatement. I felt exhausted to my core after waking up at 2am for a week straight. I felt beaten and bruised from a tornado of life whirling around me while I tried to stand in the middle of it and just make it out alive. But hey, we did it!
When I woke up Sunday I had an intense desire to get stuff done, recalibrate and just rebalance my shaky life. There is just something so calming and reassuring about cleaning your home, getting your things in order and mentally planning for the next week or so. I changed into my comfy shorts and a shirt with no back (you’d think sexy, but reality was just that I was hot and couldn’t be bothered by actual clothes). I scrubbed the toilet like I was scrubbing away my problems. Took all of my forgotten and abused items used for work out of my car finally, put them back in their rightful place in my home. I washed all of my clothes that endured the tornado with me- make up smears, one pasta stain and a new hole in my favorite work pants. I vacuumed all the yuck out of my place, moved some pictures into different rooms trying to fabricate a new organized life, windex-ed anything that stood still. I just took my time to make things comfortable again in the midst of what felt like me getting the crap slapped out of me repeatedly over the course of two weeks.
I went to Vegas Friends to grab a towel rack he replaced. I went in my shorts and weather provoking shirt- just running over to Vegas Friends, no biggie, he’s not even there. HAH! Pulled into the driveway and he just arrived home from a week away. We ended up going to lunch, me and my backless self where we ate outside and the wind all but blew my shirt off. And then I realized I really didn’t care. I was tired, and hot, starving to death and over the mom next to us giving me the evil eye as if my shirt labeled me slut. I scarfed my double burger and enjoyed every fragment of a concrete chocolate dessert.
I stopped caring about how cruel life has been, and how real my problems seem right now. I was practically naked eating a chocolate dessert in the glory of the California sun and all that was flowing through my mind was how I can’t change anything about the situations I am in. I can’t control all of the craziness, nor can I make my divorce final, or anything else. The only thing that I could do is what feels right to my soul, and handle my responses to the shit life throws at me. Be it basically naked in public eating ice cream or rearranging decor for the 12th time that hour.
24 is quickly approaching and the older I get the more I realize there is less and less I can do, but more and more ways I can deal with things.