Turning in Circles

On the first day of the week, every Sunday, I have this impulse. The previous week is over, no matter how good or bad it was, and I want to improve myself. I have these ideas of what to do in the coming week to diet, to exercise, to write, to be nicer to people, to take better care of myself, to spend time with the ones I love. I catch up on my weekly reading, I make plans for correspondence, write lists planning out what I want my week to look like.

Then, sometime early Monday morning, everything goes to crap.

This past week was one of the hardest, trial-filled, harrowing weeks I've had in quite some time. At some point on Wednesday, I had a complete emotional meltdown and was just sobbing on my bed, and that day wasn't even over yet. It started to get better -- I put the rest of the day behind me, showered and dressed and started over, going to dinner and karaoke with my brother and his wife and it was very nice. After getting back home, the night ended like the day had begun, but approximately 100 times worse. Teenagers, I tell you. They like to throw unexpected gum into the works. And there was much more emotional stress to be had over the next couple of days, too. So much that I just want to do what my little dog does: find a blanket, burrow under it, and fall blissfully asleep, so heavily that even picking me up and dropping me back on the bed will not wake me.

I haven't crawled out of my cubby hole yet today. Well, I did have to let the dogs out once, but I've been sleeping and snuggling in my blankies because that and a hot bath seem to be the only thing that make me feel better, and I'm out of bubble bath. That's how stressful it's been: I am OUT of bubble bath.

I finally got my wheel bearing fixed this week. Now my car no longer sounds like small countries are fighting a war beneath it when I drive. However, the van is on its deathbed, and I'm not sure how much it will end up costing. The one bright spot in the foreseeable future is that October is a 3-pay-period month, so the checks we get at the end of this week can pay for those repairs.

I hope.

I turn my feet in the right direction, it seems, then immediately trip and fall. I stand up, brush myself off, and the "Taxi of Life" drives by and sprays mud on me. I wash up and begin again and a piano falls on my head. I feel like I'm living in a Looney Tune, only it's not funny in the least. All I can do is keep chasing the stupid RoadRunner, knowing that eventually I'll end up with an anvil on my head. (Shout out to Little Chicken -- my husband is probably laughing right now, and not because of me, it's because of you! :)

Usually, at times like this, I have something spiritual to ponder, some sort of bright light at the far, far end of the tunnel. I attempt to retain a positive outlook as I sort through things in my life. But right now I just want to crawl back under these covers and sleep for the rest of the day, so please forgive me if I can't always be pithy.

Sometimes I have to lay beneath the wreckage for a while before I find the strength to crawl back out.

(I guess I can always be pithy.)

Stephanie Jean