Some days I really don't like me.
I know we're not supposed to say that. We're supposed to love ourselves and all that. Some days I do. There are parts of me I adore. Much of the time.
But some days...
Some days I'm all bound up with anger, worry and fear. Can I put off an overdue oil change for another week because I can't afford it this week? Should I pay rent first or the car payment? If I pay both, I might not have enough money for the water bill. What's going on with the government this week? Is there going to be Social Security when I need it? I can't put anymore money in my 403b without going deeper in debt now. Will any of it matter with North Korea on the brink of insanity? Are the terrorists winning? How in the hell can I get out of bed and face another day at work?
Work! I spend ninety percent of my work day listening to people bitch to me about something, bitch at me about something, bitch about me. I'm supposed to have all the answers, make everyone happy, and fix it all with a smile on my face. I do the job of two people since the last round of budget cuts and I'm tired. Of course I can't say anything or admit I need help or I'll end up a casualty of the next budget cuts. Been there, done that.
Home. Home is good. It's my comfort, my oasis, my barricade against the crazy world outside the door. I like home too much. I don't want to leave. I have anxiety attacks over taking a vacation because it's going to put me out of my home for a week. That terrifies me. As much as I need the vacation, I'm stressing over it. Do I have enough money to really relax? Will a vacation even help when eventually I'll have to catch up on everything I missed during the week?
Usually, I like myself. But when all these things are swirling through my brain and getting out of bed seems like a hopeless, and most likely, unnecessary prospect, I long for the happy me. The one who knows life is short and every day should be cherished. The one who laughs easily. The one who doesn't yell at the dogs for being dogs. The one who enjoys his time at home, rather than worrying about everything else. The one who goes to birthday parties and cookouts. The one who has dinner with friends. The one who writes and acts in plays. The one who is kind and believes good will win over evil. The one who isn't so stressed and bent out of shape he's in danger of snapping completely.
Yeah, I really need to learn to let this shit go before the men in white coats come and get me or I end up as the lead story on CNN. If a reporter calls to interview you about me, please be kind. I had the best intentions.