Wuthering Hyders

Venting

***WARNING***
I'm going to spend a few minutes venting here, so if you don't feel like listening, feel free to skip to the last couple of paragraphs to save time.


I can't take this anymore. I can't not having my computer. I can't take not having a usable basement. I can't take the constant mess that persists no matter how much cleaning I do. I can't take the stupid rain. I can't take the price of gas. I can't take the million questions I'm always being asked (do I LOOK like I know EVERYTHING?!). I can't take the "I'm hungry" ALL DAY LONG. I can't take the guilt I get from my mother-in-law (whether she means to make me feel it or not) because we don't live there instead of here. I can't take the guilt I get from my mother (and I KNOW she means to make me feel it) for not going to church. I can't take being awakened numerous times every night. I can't take the whining (least of all my own). I can't take the fighting. I can't take the lack of funds (yeah, I know, I should go get a job, right?). I can't take that I'm never going to see the places I've dreamed of seeing all my life. I can't take that I'm so angry right now that I just want to smash something. Maybe several things. (In fact, I've already thrown a few. Nothing breakable, though.) I can't take that part of me wants to throw a tantrum like my kids get to do. I can't take that my best friend lives so far away we've only seen each other once. I can't take that there are so many people in the world that are worse off than I am and I'm having a bloody pity party for myself. I can't take that I WANT to help all these other misfortunates (yes, I know that's not a real word) but I feel like everything I do is too small to make any real difference. I can't take feeling small. I can't take that so many people take rational feelings for granted. I can't take that I sound so ungrateful about my life.

(Deep breath...)

I almost feel better now. Talk about venting. I wish I could say I don't know what came over me, but that would be a bold-faced lie. It's simply my being inept at handling things an average person should be able to breeze right through. I hate being in "the dark place". I really do need to learn some coping strategies or whatever psycho-babble term they have for them these days. Would things be easier if I were less of a thinker? I feel like I want to crawl out of my skin just to escape the thoughts racing in circles around the inside of my brain like a throng of roller derby girls. The worst part is, I can't think of any logical reason why I should be like this. Nobody has died. I haven't given birth, nor am I pregnant. Will someone, PLEASE, tell me what is wrong with me? Oh, never mind. I've been through all that with licensed professionals who have assured me that I'm normal. Although, I'm really beginning to wonder just how much they know about "normal".

Please, excuse my foul mood this evening. I suppose I need to stop allowing my emotions such freedom. I swear, I'm actually not a bad person. I'm not usually so self-absorbed and violent. In fact, I have to make a genuine effort to be loud even. I don't have a personality disorder either. Honest. I just haven't had much humor in my life this week and it's hard to write humorous things when you've nothing to base them on. I know how pessimistic I sound. Part of me says I should just quit writing, but I feel like writing now. Besides, if I listened to myself, wouldn't that be like I was letting voices in my head tell me what to do? I'm kidding, by the way. I don't actually hear voices. I'm not THAT far gone. I can jest about being crazy because I know I'm not actually. Truly crazy people don't admit to being crazy. They're far too busy actually BEING crazy.

You want to know what the highlight of my day was today? (It's dumb.) I watched a re-run of "Top Gear". It was the episode with James Blunt driving their reasonably-priced car. I'm quite taken with him in spite of the fact that I don't find it fair he's got looks, talent, AND a sense of humor I can relate to. I suppose my taste for celebrity crushes isn't quite along the same lines as the average American woman. That accent, though... It makes my head all fuzzy, but in a good way this time.

Alright. I've cleared some of the evil murkiness out. Time to go pick out one of the half a dozen new books I have and try to get rid of the rest of it.