Tag Archives: holidays

where would you go with two cranky reindeer and a sleigh full of scowls?

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irascible:   adj.

  • (of a person) easily made angry
  • characterized by or arising from anger

synonyms: irritable, quick-tempered, short-tempered, testy

it’s friday. so why is this word my refrain for the morning? friday is funday when the world is spinning correctly on its axis of gregorian work weeks, but this one finds me moping, and doing it with attitude. i have no particular reason for my ill-tempered blues, and trying to figure one out only makes me feel surly and ungrateful.

so i’m reaching for the reset button inside me instead. i started with some simple, whole food that didn’t taste nearly as good as the first time i prepared and ate it beaming with self-satisfaction. grumble, grumble, whine, whine. it appears that my button is caked with grump, which prevents me from pushing it all the way in no matter how many curse words i hurl while trying. no click, no reset.

now, with this post, i’m trying the soft, damp cloth of catharsis to try to loosen up the cranky crust. honestly, i’d like to go ahead and shut down the main breaker for a while…the switch is next to my tempurpedic, under the pull for my imaginary black-out curtains.

so why do i need a reset? my life is mostly grand. i’ve got a christmas tree for my littlebean and a weekend to decorate til i’m glittered-in-the-face. i’ve got littlebean. i’ve got a great guy who gives great relationship and often keeps me sequestered, smiling and sighing, on my quiet, nine-numbered cloud. i have all these advantages plus a good full-time job. what am i missing? a freshly polished silver spoon full of chocolate free-time? rick(y) schroeder and jason bateman as the perfect pairing of puberty and pretention?

maybe it’s cumulative. what was previously my anniversary just passed and what became the doomsday (a.k.a the “antiversary”) of my marriage looms just days ahead. my trip to see the folkses was good…save for the typical emotions of black sheep at family events. i don’t have a Reagan tattoo, so they can’t get 5 minutes or 3 comments into even a non-political conversation with me before i’m labeled a socialist with Pelosi on speed-dial. nevermind that i’m really an independent and quite moderate…certainly more moderate than my hysterical right-wing family would know from the micro-conversations that take place before names are hurled. it’s a real drag sometimes.

(on an up note, my obnoxious, overly-opinionated, dismissive older brother and i had quite an enlightening quasi-political, philosophical conversation in the calm of a Saints sunday night football blowout – sorry Lions, but thank you. your sacrifice did much for my familial relationships. all those penalties were almost too much…blush.).

add to that the slightest pinch of rejection. my test article for a cool writing gig may well pay off down the road, but i couldn’t quite pull off the impossible request to write from another writer’s heart. we writers…we have such particular relationships with our words. intellectually i’m not disappointed, but the pouter is still periodically poking at my heart.

(hey writers…for a cool look at how your brain parts create your craftiness, check out this article: Brain Mysteries – How the Brain Strings Words into a Sentence.)

however, if i sum my days since my post-thanksgiving-post, they are too good for complaining. i’ve made progress on my business, hugged and drank and scratched mosquito bites with best friends i rarely see, visited family including my ailing mother, caught up a lot at work, whooped some paper monsters at the homestead,  surrounded myself with loving support and inspiration and watched my daughter mature.  she’s even being extra good just in case there is something to this Santa-presents-good-girl thing mom keeps throwing around. with some help, i’ve improved my home and started christmas festivities. even my health is improving, and today i will be chiro-ed and acupunctured somewhere closer to sanity and stable blood chemistry at a wellness clinic i found up the road.

so WHAT IS MY PROBLEM? perhaps it’s one i don’t need to identify. perhaps it’s just stress, impatience and a little subclinical blues presenting as irascibility. over dumb shit. pissed on a friday. i mean, the NERVE of my sunglasses to misplace themselves! i needed them for my 10 minute roundtrip to daycare and they let me down! ack! help! my eyes are bleeding! and what about the part where i’m obviously a failure though i’m not yet sure of what? i do know (today) that it’s something profound enough to color all the remaining years of my life with despair and futility.

winter blues already? SAD? normal life? the oft left-behind reindeer pair, Basher and Bitchy? the shoppers driving slower than a sleigh on flypaper?

it’s friday. i’ll fix’em…the reset button, my attitude and all these frickin-fracken fickle feelings. me and my reindeer will work it out together.

 

 

 

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expansion teams of the AL (animosity league)…and la, la, la, i can’t pass you…

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i’m skatin’ by this morning…short on words…feel like i used ’em up yesterday in a verbose rant about “balance” or something unattainable like that (i’m sure i’ll find a few more lying around…i always keep a stash). meanwhile, i’ve noticed a certain season of testiness settling upon me. irritants that i can normally laugh at with a patronizing, yoda-like affect now crawl under my skin and supplant my usual optimistic outlook and relative tolerance for stupidity with grumbling admonishments akin to my father swallowing curse words and muttering “commie” as he stomped out of a room protesting all that pinko news in the 80s…and again in the aughts.

i don’t even like to use the word stupid (stupidity being an obviously better choice). i didn’t realize how crappy a word it truly is until it began to fly from my 2.5 year-old’s mouth as an insult. as an insult, uttered in frustration and impatience, it’s a word that has haunted my ego and tempered my id all the days of my life. i’m trying hard to change my relationship with that word and explain to my daughter that there is just no reason to call a person stupid…especially your family or yourself or a whole class of people or ideologies.

now i have to live it, even on the roads of the DC metro, with littlebean all quiet and sponge-like in the back seat and the christmas shoppers only just now starting to filter into the usual rush hour highway accidents and gridlock. Lord help us through the silly season…she doesn’t need to realize yet the fierceness of the holiday spirit in her homeland.

until this mood passes, i must needs to put the blinders on early, develop my seasonal “la la la i can’t hear you” refrain, stop reading election bumper stickers…at least the ones that piss me off at a completely irrational level, cause cursing, and a temptation to shout the word stupid in myriad contexts. sometimes that temptation is just too great. i’ve not stopped my relapses completely yet…maybe i’ll use the ol’ white knuckle coin system, even if i’m not ready to dedicate a whole 12 steps to my success.

until this mood passes, it would help if i stopped checking the nationality of poor drivers, taking the less spectacular performances of my GPS lady personally or bitching like an involuntary martyr at nearly universal electronics and customer service issues. i will continue to root for my AL team in the World Series and do a better job blocking the fact that they are from texas. (everything is bigger in texas, and leading that list are our egos). they would be a first time winner…always cool, unless you are an expansion team who was added to the slate after my birth in 1972. i’m not sure how long it takes for a post-natal expansion team to gain credibility with me. i will let you know the first time it happens…the first time i think of the colorado rockies as a real team or tampa as more than a spring training site. and let’s face it, those fly-by-night florida marlins and arizona diamondbacks are an embarrassment to the World Series Title club…season winners or not. (does that seem like a harsh assessment?)  maybe the secret number is 30 years since i forget that the mariners and toronto were new in 1977. or maybe it’s because i was only five in 1977.

the points are, trish has got to brace herself, or start the regular meditation practice i threaten all the time, or drop some of the passion, or flee to an ashram (or the caribbean) and find all that gratitude i usually push out into the Universe to keep my own karma rolling with a smile. let’s do it – NO MOSS, NO MOSS, NO MO…oh, come ON! forty-five on the beltway? you flippin’ mossmobile…MOVE it!

how many animosity-building days til christmas?