Just when I thought everything was going smooth the universe made the executive decision to throw a wrench into my peace. Does everyone agree that Lisa appears to be content? Good, bring in the wrench, please. On second thought, make it a double.
It’s been 6 months since I was blindsided, and the universe has been somewhat kind, but recently it has decided to shake things up a bit. As if watching the News wasn’t enough.
My son decided to move out of his apartment and back HOME. The problem with this big fat wrench is he didn’t come alone. He brought his endless appetite, wash, sneakers the size of Pennsylvania and a school project that entails constructing something that has now taken over my entire house. Remember the movie The Blob? It’s like that over here.
My nature is very easy peasy. Little things like gigantic sneakers and piles of wash have never bothered me before, well, maybe not never. But, certainly not at the level of wanting to set the house on fire to make them go away. This is the result of holding in an emotional fart.
Clearly, there are some underlining things going on with me to stir up this level of emotion, and now you lucky readers who were drawn in my clever title get to read about it. Sorry, not sorry.
Although my life keeps moving forward one snail slide at a time, and the memories start to fade, they don’t leave, they linger. Like the crowd you see at Starbucks sucking up the free wi-fi ALL DAY.
The problems I’m facing now are the reminders. Not the “don’t forget we need milk” kind, the “my therapist would like you to come in next week” kind. It is the equivalent of being shot out of a cannon right back to October 12th. Why can’t I take a cannonball ride back to 1974 when I was free of concerns, other than the daunting decision to ride my bike or play jump rope?
In some ways, it’s good to go so I can get a feel as to what’s going on inside my man’s head. In other ways, it drains me for days. Literally paralyzing me from doing what I enjoy. I don’t read, write or go to the gym. I find myself stuck in a cloud of never ending thoughts. In my head, it’s like trying to figure out a math equation that has multiple answers. I HATE MATH!
Of course, I know it’s all part of the process, and that the process is the best thing for everyone and that it’s working, but for god sakes, it’s a lot to deal with when you’re just trying to deal period. Hence the thought that FIRE would be the way to go with ridding my house of clutter.
At this point in my life, I think it’s safe to say that the universe shops at Sears and there is just an obvious endless sale on Craftsman wrench sets, so I need to take responsibility, tighten my helmet, fasten my seatbelt and just … Enjoy the Ride! One long speed bump at a time.
There have been days when I’ve listened to the senseless ramblings of nothing for what seems like hours…even days. Maybe it’s because I’m craving some human contact, I’m bored, avoiding the other million things that need to be done or I just can’t bring myself to say “Zip-It.” Sadly, I know the truth, I am “Zip It” impaired. There I said it! It’s the first step to recovery right?
My ears have been pimped out to these undeserving windbags for too long, working their lobes off listening to what I would consider nothing but the dreaded banter of me, me, me.
Don’t get me wrong, these drums are total sluts when it comes to other types of listening, some good music for instance is more than welcome. They are suckers for shaking elderly voices, wide open for the troubles of loved ones and they practically become satellite dishes for some sweet nothings.
The windbags are making this ear pleasure very difficult with their evasive nonsense. They scour the earth in search of eye contact. Once they have that, it’s all over for the ears. They don’t care who it is or where they are, if you have ears…working or not…they pounce. I’ve slowly become a magnet for this crew.
Perhaps it’s my compassionate nature..nah, who am I kidding…it’s not. It’s more like my inquisitive nature. Instead of a quick “Zip It” I always make the mistake of asking a question. Well, questions to a windbag are the Golden Ticket. This is an open invitation to…you guessed it…prolong the pain. Meanwhile, in their head they are hearing nothing short of.. “OMG! she loves me! She wants me to go on and on about me..yea!”
That’s all it would take is a quick “Zip It” to end this madness….yet I can’t do it. Sitting in silence, politely listening to useless words from the windbag, as I’m chanting “SHUT THE FRONT DOOR” in my head. My inner voice is having a field day filling my head with sarcastic responses that never get spoken as I try to imagine how many socks it would take to fill the pie hole.
I think I have finally found my answer in this wonderful tutorial. Dr. Evil really touches on the basics of getting your “Zip It” on, by making it look so natural. Incorporating DEVO…well, that is just pure genius. When a windbag comes along … you must “Zip It”…”Zip It” good!
Enjoy the Ride!