Crap-- threw up on my blog. Sorry, guys. As the wise and lovely Cammy pointed out, there's learning to be done here. My hissy fits are kind of like pigging out. Usually there's a reason-- I got too hungry, didn't take steps to clear out the wrong foods, add in anxiety/frustration, and watch out.
Today I got to Zumba and it felt so good. I think that's a major piece of this-- I'm used to my exercise and when I don't get it, my mood gets ugly. So that's one.
My poor MIL has returned to her own digs, so the tension around that is much abated.
Our very wonderful 2nd grader had a birthday this week and we had to pull something together for that, both at school and at home.
My husband started a major consulting job at a new place, at a time when his practice is busy past the point of reassuring and ranging into the red anxiety zone.
I had a medical appointment with many vials of blood and some degree of attendant anxiety, to deal with minor but worrisome chronic pain.
Oh, and I agreed to a different process on my hair after umpteen years and I don't like it. Not exactly hamstrung by a bad dye job but definitely limping, because that's the kind of tough can-do woman I am. I look myself in the eye for a good talking to and think, Oh my God, why did I agree to that? Was I possessed?
Blah blah and my dog ate my homework and my hamster died, etc. (Not really. The hamster died months ago, and it had a very nice funeral in the back yard because I used to have time for that kind of thing.)
That was my week starting back to work.
I think the worst fights are the ones you get into with yourself. The truth is nobody, me included, has to justify a decision like this (whether or not to take a job). If I were firm and clear and okay with it, either way, it would be fine. Nobody's going to roll their eyes and question me, at least not where I can see (honestly, nobody but me is all that interested). But somehow I have set up this stadium full of critics and I'm angrily trying to defend myself. When the truth is, no one is attacking me. I'm attacking myself.
I still don't know what to do but I have good hope next week will go better. All I have to do is get to the Y three times and everything will work out, right?
At least if it doesn't, I'll still be on a Zumba-induced high.