I don’t want to fight

I don’t want to fight, but you punish my honesty with silence and absence.

I don’t want to fight, but I hear so much in the things you’re not saying.

I don’t want to fight, but you’ve been dropping balls left and right.

I don’t want to fight, but you’re suddenly too busy for everyday things and only give me vague excuses and thinly constructed lines about why.

I don’t want to fight, but I’m drowning in the missed appointments, forgotten errands, and chores that I know are left undone.

I don’t want to fight, but I can’t bring myself to remind you one more time to breathe and smile and show up.

I don’t want to fight, but I feel like your side of the room is suddenly pitch black.

I don’t want to fight, but I can no longer pretend it’s not happening.

I don’t want to fight, but I need this to stop.

I don’t want to fight, but I know I’m going to have to use words that will crack our foundation.

I don’t want to fight, but I don’t think I have any other choice.

Today I want to be the wicked witch

You’re happy and successful. The wicked witch in me plots your demise. Why should you be succeeding when I’m not? In a fair world my (much larger) talent would be rewarded with bigger prizes than what you seem to be getting.

You’re cheerful and upbeat. The wicked witch in me plots how to get you to eat that poisoned apple. I think it might dampen those annoyingly cheerful moods and stop the Facebook posts that are just ruining my day.

Others won’t stop talking about that one thing you did that went really well that one time. Again. And again. And again. The wicked witch in me plans how to burn down the forest, with all your supporters, and end that cycle of congratulations.

Fortunately for you, and the rest of the world, I don’t let the wicked witch out. Not even on Halloween. Especially not when I’m being small and petty and jealous and weak.

But it’s fun to imagine.

The voices in my head are loud

I look at the phone, trying to talk myself into the call I know I need to make.

“I won’t! I won’t!” cries the two-year-old in my head. She is, I’m sure, holding an ice cream cone that’s dripping down one side with ‘splat! splat!’ sounds while making a petulant scowl. “I don’t hafta!”

“It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t do this! Why should I be the one to fix it?” huffs the angermonster who is supposed to be locked up but is actually roaming around, bumping into everyone else. “I will not be the person to take the blame!”

“Are they going to be mad at us?” asks the anxious teeny-bopper from somewhere behind everyone else. She’s already hiding, trying to avoid the consequences that are sure to follow.

“Maybe if we’re really polite, if we’re really sorry, they won’t yell,” says the sunny girl twirling around with daisies clutched in her hands.

They’re all talking at once. The Voice of Reason is, of course, silent.

I did, eventually, pick up the phone.

The things my friends may not know about me

I’m easily distracted. I’ll pick up my phone to look for something and realize ten minutes later, after putting it down, that I didn’t look for the item.

I’m very bad with money. I get a little bit and the compulsion to spend it is immediate and often almost overwhelming. I’m shocked I’ve managed to save any money at all.

I don’t remember what I wore yesterday, or last week, or to the last gala. When I work in an office I keep a journal documenting what I wore and when. Otherwise I run the risk of wearing the same outfit two weeks in a row. While that doesn’t bother me, it seems to matter to others.

At least 30% of the time I have to drive back to my house after leaving because I can’t remember if I closed the garage door. Usually I’ve only made it a block or so from the house, but I just can’t remember doing it. I’ve never found the garage door open when going back to check.

I have a hard time remembering faces or names. I worked with someone for 12 years and can’t tell you the names of her parents, siblings, or nieces and nephews. And she talked about them all the time. I met someone on at least six different occasions and still couldn’t recognize her the next time I saw her; once I clued in on who she was, the details of the conversation are easy to remember. This happens to me all the time.

I consider lies to be acceptable as long as they are for the greater good. Sometimes my convenience qualifies as the greater good.

Every time I do something there’s a thought in the back of my head telling me I will fail. The bigger the project or task, the louder it gets.

I am colder than you think.

When I lived alone I often realized that I had spent the entire weekend without speaking to another human being. Sometimes I realized that I hadn’t spoken out loud, at all, in those two days.

I have a mild hoarding problem. I once had a panic attack over the thought of throwing out a box of things I didn’t need. I made myself do it anyway.

I’m a horrid housekeeper. One of the main reasons I don’t have people over more often is that I’ll never get the house clean enough for company. If I truly cared, I’d clean better. I just don’t want to be judged.

I’m not comfortable with the way I look. I hate that I buy into it, but there’s always going to be a part of me that wants to look closer to the ideal of beauty.

I have three closets full of clothes. Yes, three.

I own more than a 20 shades of lipstick, and at least half of then are some variation of red. I rarely wear them, now.

I can be mean and petty. And I’m fine with it.

I obsess over big decisions.

I have weird sleeping patterns … which means I find myself writing blog posts at 4 a.m.

Image source: realworkhard / Pixabay

An unexpectedly bad day…

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Someone needs to explain to me that everything that goes up must come down … before I crash down. {{sigh}} I didn’t crash today, but I did have a rough landing.

I cracked a filling, again. The same one I cracked last year. And I don’t have dental insurance right now because I thought it would be a good idea to quit my job.

I’m not out of money yet. Nowhere near, yet. But I’m realizing I’m going to be out of money a lot quicker than I thought.

Just a little bit of a depressing thought.  I’ll be better once my tooth has stopped aching; so I’ll be better next week.