Mama’s lacking in patience right now. There’s a lot going on, and when things get like this, to do lists long and getting longer and life completely unwrapped, I get raw. Put a fork in her; she’s done. Do expect that she’ll remove the fork and stab you with it, 80 or 90 times, until she’s sure that you know just where she stands. And as you stagger around the apartment blinded by your own fluids, she’ll feel awfully guilty and lick your wounds, or at the very least tell you where the gauze is, and she’ll close her eyes and hope that it will all go away.
For me, feelings like this are very much like anxiety, which is probably at the root of it all anyhow. I’m on edge and I want to punch people who tell the anxious to calm down, as if gee, they hadn’t thought about that, and now that this genius has, we can pack up our Capri Suns and make that trip to Oz. I can’t keep it in check am not sure how to fly around it. My instinct is to cage myself, not literally for the fetishists out there, but to lock myself in my apartment for the weekend until it passes. To throw the phone in the toilet, to call Comcast and have them shut down the Interwebs but please God not the tv. To save the good people from the force that is the irritable Kris.
Removing myself from the situation seems to work in the long term, and so maybe that’s the key to the more immediate. Walk away for a second, take a breath, and immerse myself in something completely unrelated and clear of emotion. I’m wondering if it really takes care of things, or if it stuffs them inside under pressure, less pleasing upon release than the bikinied woman in the cake. It’s worth a try, I guess. Breathe. Remove. Watch Love Boat.
I should probably hide the forks anyway.
15 Comments
I love it when you write like this.
Start by taking deep breaths. But definitely hide the forks.
Nah dawg. Get the forks back out. I have a former spouse I’d like you to meet.
Forks, cages, toileted phones, and bikini-cake notwithstanding, that you have self-knowledge and the presence of mind to know when you are raw and in need of self-care (or closeting) speaks volumes about the quality of your character.
May you walk out the other side of the cutlery parade soon, and with head held up, proud.
Watch a few episodes of those Atlanta Housewives On Demand. I promise they will make you feel like the most normal, patient, sane, well spoken, well adjusted person that ever lived.
At least that’s what works for me when I’m in a fork-throwing mood. At a minimum they may lift your spirits enough to make you switch to spoons, which would only leave minor flesh wounds.
ever thought of leaving the disconnected city?
I had the same weekend. Plus a few cocktails and marathon Deadliest catch. It works for a minute… a little.
::hug::
mia
How about one of those sporks from KFC?
I know what you mean. It happens when I want/need change for myself and I can’t comprehend why the whole world around me isn’t changing right alongside. I think backing off and getting perspective is good, but do it somewhere fun.
Holy crap balls! You sound exactly like me. I wrote last night’s post in third person even. I’m leaving my office shortly and going home to have frozen pizza and martinis for dinner. Think that will help my shitty mood?
I really do miss you, the in person kind. I hope we can move beyond the twitter ether sometime soon. I always seem to have a fork in my purse (and I usually wish I were kidding about that but in this case absolutely not.)
What is this “patience” you speak of?
You are such a fanstastic writer, I feel like adding.
Of course, you get anxious when you have anxiety. Can I get a “Duh” from the choir?
Denying it might be a good idea just long enough to let people get away from the silverware drawer, but I think in general it’s a better idea to ride that wave of freak-out until it face-plants you in the sand. It’s better than drowning in it — the undertow can be fierce.
Hide the forks. Bury the knives. Say hello to Gopher for me.