While I love to know anyone reads this thing, and all the information presented here is true, I need to clear something up. This blog is not my diary. It’s more like a reality show where I am the star, the producer, the cinematographer, and the film editor (minus anyone killing or voting anyone off). It’s about me, and I don’t make anything up. But I choose the angles and the lighting. I pluck out the good scenes and leave 99.99% of the footage on the cutting room floor. Yeah, I know some bloggers put it all out there and that’s what draws big time readership and comments by the bucketload. But I’m not a famous blogger. I have a regular job and someday I might need another regular job and a potential employer will google me and after they’ve seen pictures of my hoo-ha while giving birth, will they think I am the most professional candidate? Doubtful. And that is the reason (actually among many others which we don’t need to get into) why I’m not posting hoo-ha pictures. (Actually I don’t have any). That said, I do look pretty happy, rosy cheeked, and alert in the birth photos. Well, the ones after the baby was born, anyway. That’s what having no medication on board will do for you.
So, back to my original point, which, if you’re still following- I swear I’m coming around to it- my point is, I totally have problems! I just don’t necessarily post about them. Not like, crazy interesting problems, like issues with substance abuse (unless Cool Whip is a substance). I am not estranged from anyone in my family and I don’t have an eating disorder (unless you count problems with the aforementioned Cool Whip). I’m just a normal person and despite my New Year’s Resolution to be more grateful, I have my stuff.
Like, I can be really high strung and obsessive about certain things and I can’t deal with those things without talking them through. Earlier today I was informed that I rubbed someone the wrong way at work. I found out third hand that someone in another department felt we had a “negative interaction.” Upon hearing this, I felt awful. Was I rude without even realizing it? Does this person hate me? How will I deal with the mortification of having to deal with this person professionally in the future?
Perhaps a normal grown up would just deal with these feelings and move on. Not me. I g-chatted my best friend in a frenzy. “Are you there? I’m so embarrassed!” She didn’t reply. A normal grown up would have assumed she was busy working as this was during typical work hours. Yeah, not me. I texted her frantically, “Can you talk!?” Thankfully she could. She talked me down. We made a plan. Next time I see the jilted personnel person I will apologize for having been abrupt. (I honestly don’t remember everything about the interaction, but I guess if she thinks it was a “negative interaction” I ought to apologize).
Or take the Listen To Your Mother show I am working on. I am pretty jazzed about it, but there are many moving pieces and many questions that come up with each new task. Poor Dan. He gets to hear me obsess every night. Should I call or email? Email. Definitely email, then follow up with a phone call. No… call, then follow up with an email. For sure, call then email. What do you think? Hey can you read this email before I hit send? Does that sound good? Does that make sense? Should I copy and paste the text into an email or send it as an attachment? Serif or Times New Roman? Ok, I don’t really ask him about the font, but I’m sure it feels that way to him sometimes.
Sometimes when I get crazy, I think of my niece. Well, she’s not really my niece. She’s my cousin’s fiance’s daughter. Not the cousin I mentioned earlier, a different one. Dan thinks I think the whole world is my cousin. I don’t. I just have a lot of extended family. And I thought it would be easier to just call her my niece.
She’s three and she’s a sweet, earnest, adorable kid. And you might say she’s a little anxious. I heard tell of a conversation that went down in the car en route to my brother and sister-in-law’s house, where she was going to be with my (actual) niece and nephew and their babysitter for the evening. Little Emma (not her real name) asked questions the whole ride there, holding her duck close. Her stuffed animal/washcloth duck is her security blanket. She takes it everywhere and sucks on it for comfort. What if the new babysitter won’t let me suck my duck? She would. What if I suck my duck? Then you will. And my personal favorite: What if they say my duck is wet because it’s wet? When I heard that, I laughed, and I thought “Emma, I feel you.”
Lately I’ve been thinking of that. It makes me smile to myself and it also reminds me not to be a three year old. So my new mantra is “What if they say my duck is wet because it’s wet?” Don’t say I don’t have problems.