Well, it started with this little gem.
Notice the two red underlines, the way “computer” and “off” kind of run together as if written words could communicate loud, aggressive annoyance. I am a bad, bad girl. 🙂
And then, my day it went on for a bit… to this near-catastrophe
I’d like to say that this poopiness started with the yelling-note and ended with the black-sludge incident. But no. The poopiness has been here off and on for a while now. And it has this crazy way of coming back in little whiffs and smears whenever I think its gone! (I can’t believe I’m using poop as a metaphor for life stuff right now– do you see how far I’ve fallen from sane?!)
Because I detest rant blogs and twitter-complainers, I will spare you my sob story. Here’s a hint. I sobbed.
Carrying things vs. carrying on
I am a self-confessed carrier. When I was young, I used to lie awake thinking of all the things I probably did wrong that day, so many interactions that went sour. Over time I learned to let more go, move on. I began to see that anxiety and worry leads to dead ends and forehead wrinkles.
But, once and a while the ugly weight rears its head; I want to carry my woes again, hold onto the heavy stuff. Even the light stuff, like post-it notes and burnt cider can pile up and suddenly there I am, hobbling along with a bent back, stupidly staring at the ground because of all I’m trying to hold onto. And sometimes its not about worry, sometimes its about control and fear, but no matter what it is about it never goes anywhere.
(Gosh. This is so good for me right now. I feel like it’s therapy just writing this down! Seriously though, I don’t have it figured out. Sometimes my fingers teach me truths that were hidden in some flabby fold of my mind. )
I don’t need to carry. You don’t need to carry. It’s been carried for us. And when we try to take it all back upon ourselves, suddenly we’re tipping toward earth, facing the dirt, unable to look up and see all the glory before us.
Carry or carry on. Your choice and mine.