I have been intensely, self-indulgently, a-little-bit insanely cranky for the past few days. I feel like a powder keg, giving off sparks. Everything seems like an overwhelming project or problem. I can’t really TELL you about any of these overwhelming projects or problems because spoken aloud, they each seem (are) insignificant and small. But trust me, I feel ICK. And when I feel ICK for a couple days, I start to decide that my life sucks, in one huge way or another and that I need a HUGE change of some sort. Then, usually, on the third day, I wake up with forty zits. And I go…..hm. Crap. Maybe it’s this:
Mona Lisa Smiles (one of Momastery’s first posts)
This morning, stuck home alone with my children, I had the following epiphanies:
-My husband hates me and our kids. When he called yesterday to say good night to us from his “layover in Atlanta”, he was actually sipping his fifth margarita at a resort in the Keys, where husbands really go when they say they’re on business trips.
-My house is filthy, and too small to exist in. Too small to breathe in with all of these high pitched voices and dolls and teeny shoes. I am not a home-owner, I am a half-home owner. I accidentally purchased half a home, which is perfect since it’s worth half of what I paid for it. Where is the other half of my house?
-My son will be in therapy soon for co-dependence. He keeps nervously telling me I am “the best mommy in the world,” which is his effort to keep us all on this side of social services when he rightly senses I’m teetering on the edge.
-Tish will join him in therapy to deal with her neglect issues. This morning when she fell down and cried for the fourth time in an hour, I left her there crying, without even turning my head. I’m sorry, but somebody’s got to start sucking it up around here.
-My parents definitely like my sister more. Which is understandable, but still. Rude.
-My hair is horrible. And I amtoo short, and ugly, like a gnome. And on the day I die the undertaker will have to use concealer on my wrinkly 80 year old chin because I still will not have grown out of my acne.
-I have far too many children. Every time one of them says “Mom,” I bristle like it’s an act of aggression. One or two will have to go. In an effort to avoid playing favorites, I will get rid of the next two who ask for water.I am done getting water. Forever.
UGH. And one more gloomy, lifeless, miserable UGH for good measure. actually, I’m too blah for capital letters today. so… ugh, instead.
At one point this morning, as I stared at the wall and wondered how I hadn’t noticed before that my life was spiraling into this black hole of despair and drudgery, I was brought back to my surroundings by a sharp cramp in my side.Then another, and then finally the big epiphany…OH. OOOOOOOOOOOOOH.
I got my period for the first time when I was 12, which means that it caught me completely off guard for the 250th time this morning. Why don’t I ever see it coming? Why aren’t I ever prepared for the viciousness of it?
After breakfast when the kids and I were playing Chutes and Ladders …the game that makes me grateful we don’t have guns in the house, for fear that I might use one on myself if I land on that long freaking slide one more time…I heard an interesting news report on the radio.
Apparently, a woman walked into the Louvre today and threw a mug of coffee at the Mona Lisa. She was immediately arrested and the commentator described it as an “unforgivable” act by a woman who was clearly “not well.” But I immediately understood this woman, and I smiled for the first time all day. In fact, I had half a mind to walk out my half a house and put some bail money in the mailbox.
Maybe the poor woman just woke up on the wrong side of the month this morning. Maybe she walked into the Louvre and saw that smug Mona Lisa hanging there with that composed, unruffled, amused smirk that she wears everyday regardless of the time of the month, and the woman had her own epiphany: Mona Lisa’s going down.
I, for one, stand in solidarity with this woman. As a matter of fact, when the kids go down for their naps, I will go outside and spit my Diet Coke in Mona Lisa’s general direction. Take THAT, Mona Lisa.
ugh.
[...] Have you ever had one of those days? One of those weeks? Us too. Here’s a funny little post from someone who has been there as well. Mona Lisa Smiles… [...]
Just catching up…a few weeks late! I knew what was going on with you about half way through your list – sounds just like me in PMS mode! Sometimes that is the only way I realize it is time for my monthly visit.
Who spiraled all weekend into the “i have no friends, everyone hates me (and my kids), let’s move away from this horrible place and start over” frame of mind…because a new babysitter (who’d never met my kids) irresponsibly and unprofessionally quit/didn’t show up so I could go on a date Saturday night? (the answer is me) After spiraling for 2 days my husband and I agreed it had better be PMS (again, at *almost* 40, you’d think I might have an idea of whether or not it was the right time of the month, eh?) or I would need some medication.
I also trip, drop things and walk into everything remotely within my path. And I put up no resistance to any kind of food craving. Really? This is not fun. I thought I’d be in better control of this by now.
Oh yeah. I’m feelin’ it. Right there with you, sister.
[...] ridiculous, but completely true. Glennon Melton wrote about it too. In the comments, hundreds of women agree that once a month they too go crazy without realizing it. [...]
you make me happy. Thanks for being honest, i feel the exact same way….and seriosuly acne at 35 uggggg.
i love you g. you make life so interesting, no matter what.
and i still have acne. WHO has acne as an adult?!? seriously! i thought that was supposed to gone sometime when i was in HIGH SCHOOL!