Just Some Good Old Fashioned Bitching.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but lately I’m like a big slug of emotion. That’s right. A SLUG. Of emotion. I’ve cried while watching Glee, Alfred Hitchcock presents, and even the weather. (Global warming is freaking me out.) I know I’m stressed out.  I mean, clearly, I’m STRESSED.  

 

I look in the mirror and I see a pudgy, middle-aged woman staring blankly at me and I think “Who are you?”  and “Why do you keep looking at me?” and “Stop pointing your finger at me!” and “You’re creeping me out!” Then I realize that I’M the pudgy middle-aged woman and if I want to stop staring at me, then I need to turn a light off or something.

 

I know how this happened. All of it. The stress, and the pudge, and even the middle-age-ness. What I want to know is how do I make it stop? I mean, yes, I’m not going to stop aging, but something has happened where all this stress is making me not very likeable. And it suddenly occurs to me that people aren’t liking me all that much. I mean, when did people get so polite around me? When did I inspire kid-glove handling?

Maybe it’s because they can feel the stress pouring off me like AXE deodorant.

***

I had this nightmare last night where I was dead. Really. D E A D. It was horrifying. I walked into a hospital-like room and I knew I was there to see my body. Then I thought, no, I’m fine. I’m not dead. And then I saw the page stapled to a blackboard: TANYA EBY’S BODY IS TO YOUR RIGHT. I went to the right, and sure enough, there I was. Thankfully, I was covered with a sheet, but I knew I was beneath that sheet. Kealoha and my two kids were there and so was my mom, and I thought, this sucks, and…why aren’t I hysterical? But I felt nothing. Then I hugged my son and said “I’m sorry this happened to you”. “I’m not” he said and that’s when I woke up, covered in sweat, heart racing, and absolutely terrified.

 

I quickly analyzed the dream and most sites said “Maybe you are stressed about something” or “Death in a dream usually symbolizes the end of something and the start of something new”. Yeah. Okay. Fuck you. Ugh. Sorry. That was the stress talking, not me.

So then. What am I stressed about? Hmmmm. Cue Jeopardy music:

STRESSES

  1. Finals at the college and 90 final papers to grade in one week
  2. Still working two full-time jobs
  3. Narrating constantly
  4. Kid troubles
  5. No time to exercise
  6. Pants getting ever increasingly tighter
  7. No time for friends
  8. People seem to dislike me more and more
  9. Kealoha is currently job-less
  10. I need to bring in enough money to support my family
  11. Two mortgages
  12. Holidays
  13. My books = WTF?
  14. PMS so bad that I’m folded origami style trying to battle cramps and chocolate cravings
  15.  Teaching ends in two weeks and then I’m full-time freelance
  16. Terrified of freelancing full time. See 9, 10, and 11
  17. No time to write
  18. No time to breathe
  19. Chocolate makes me feel good as does Chex mix but then see #6
  20. I never get invited out to dinner but I wouldn’t be good company anyway
  21. I think I’m depressed
  22. Where's the fucking snow and cold weather?

 

Stress? I’ll say. I don’t even have time to be funny, although I do have time to chafe. Stupid cheap razors.

So maybe I have a little time to ATTEMPT to be funny.

 

Remember when I said I was a slug? Yep. Merry Christmas. I feel like a big old slug in a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt that is too tight because I can’t step away from a fucking giant burrito. Just cut it in half, Tanya, and have leftovers for crying out loud! STEP AWAY FROM THE FUCKING BURRITO!!!!

I told my students that blogs are excellent ways to practice nonfiction writing and to connect with your readers. I wasn’t necessarily talking about this blog. This blog is just plain old-fashioned bitching.

 

I need to get through the next two weeks. Change is a-coming and I hope it’s good. And I hope with going down to one job, I can have time for friends again, because I’d really like to go out with a group of people, have some food and conversation, and get out of my little slug brain and my tight yoga pants and put something on with sparkles on it.

 

But first I’m going to have a big old cry and hug a pillow, probably while watching The Voice, because if I wasn’t feeling pathetic at the start of this blog, I certainly am now. Wah.