Bad day

Yesterday was a bad day. You know it is a bad day when you find yourself saying to the children, "I'm sorry for being so awful. I'm just having a hard day." And then your seven-year-old says, "Yeah, I'm having a hard day, too." Which comes first, the chicken or the tirading mother?

I was the perfect combination of cold and withholding and short-tempered and irrational mixed with high drama and self-pity. In other words, a little my mother, a little my father, and just a dash of Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest.

Now, to give myself some credit, and to put the impact of this bad day into perspective, let me say that a meltdown of this caliber had not been seen round these parts for some time. That is saying something for the melancholy likes of me. Normally I fall apart every four to six weeks, (some people get their hair done, I have mini nervous breakdowns,) but for two and a half months I resembled a fairly-centered, not so fragile human being.

I started meditating; I attended this incredible workshop; and for one glorious month I was writing every single day. Then December came, and I have been on a downward spiral since it showed itself. The timing couldn't be worse, what with Sol's birthday, all the winter celebrations and end of year festivities, not to mention the return of really cold weather. I just want to curl up in a warm cave, with a good book, and wait this thing out.

Of course, all of this is compounded by the fact that I'm one of those people who just isn't satisfied unless I'm making life just that much more difficult for myself. I am addicted to suffering—which makes me a lousy Buddhist. For instance, instead of approaching the gift-giving season methodically—let's make a list, decide on a budget, etc.—I say, sometime around mid-December, "let's make all of our gifts this year!"

Here's another one: "If we are going to celebrate Christmas, then in all fairness we should celebrate Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and the winter solstice, all while practicing non-attachment and riding a unicycle, balancing a stack of plates on our head." Or one of Adam's favorites: "Oh it's New Year's Eve! Let's take this opportunity to completely scour the house from top to bottom, yes, even behind the refrigerator, so that we start the new year off fresh and ensure that this year won't be spent in an unkempt house." As if.

My problem is that I'm really good at imagining what the world should look like, my world, at least, and really bad at dealing with the reality that the world could care less how I see it. This has always been true. So, what was it that caused my George Bailey pre-crisis moment when I threw up my hands and yelled, "Why do we have to live in this crappy little house? Why do we have all these kids? Why do we homeschool?"

Well, I can only guess at this point because today was actually a fine day, and it's always hard for me to see in hindsight just what was such an affront to my sensibilities that they had to jump out the window. I think it's because I haven't been sitting as much lately. I've fallen out of practice with my meditation practice, and this concerns me, but apparently not enough as of yet. There is also the fact that NANOWRIMO is over, and I am still in the midst of a novel I want desperately to finish. Though, now I am without the socially acceptable excuse for sequestering myself and being somewhat antisocial. It's one thing to live like that for a month, but how can I justify it every day for as long as it takes to finish it?

And we have the holidays. I always wondered about those people for whom the holidays are "tough." What does that mean, I'd ask myself, making up tragic Christmas stories in my head. Now, I think I have become one of them. Not that I really have any traumatic Christmas memories, except for that one Christmas that was so awful I tend to remember it as an Easter or a Valentine's Day. But let's face it, this is a very emotional time of year, and I am an emotionally turbulent person. I am bound to be a bit discombobulated.

I just hate those hard days. I could handle them before, but now that I am a mother... It's one thing for Adam to put up with my moods and breakdowns because he's known me for a long time. He is well-aware of how completely insane I can be. He chose me in spite of, or maybe a little because of, it. My children are another story. They are the innocent bystanders to my train-wreck moments.

To this Adam says, "You have to remember, they also chose you." And while this thought makes me feel a little better, it also makes me feel the slightest bit worse.

I can only hope they start aiming a little higher.

Comments

[Mike]

Reading this makes me feel better about when my life is out of whack. Try not to beat yourself up too much, and sit when you have the time. It helps me a lot.

Love,
MJ