It’s a Beautiful Day, F*&% Off

It’s a Beautiful Day, F*&% Off

I am sitting on my couch in a sports bra, a bathrobe with no tie, and running socks. How, you might ask, did such an ensemble occur?

This morning, my alarm went off at 6:15am. I hate getting up early, but the kids are tardy at 7:45, so I do it anyway. Sometimes it’s not so bad. This wasn’t one of those mornings, though. Today I dragged myself out of bed, sinuses throbbing. The ragweed is here.

I’d planned to go running after following Gage to school on his bike. I didn’t want to at this point, but I put on running clothes anyway and hoped I’d feel better after coffee. I did follow Gage to school, and I tried to enjoy the cool air. It really was a lovely morning. But, then I went straight back home, stripped off the majority of my exercise clothes and threw on the bathrobe hanging over the stair rail. It just didn’t happen to have it’s belt-tie thingy with it. My skin itched, I felt bloated and I could no longer tolerate spandex, or whatever the hell they’re making sport leggings out of these days, against my skin. But my boobs are sore, so the bra stayed.

I am in a bad mood – irritable, agitated, annoyed…at everything and everyone. I am trying to moderate this mood, which is partially why I am writing this, but there’s another purpose as well.

People have bad days. I have bad days, and my bad days don’t have to be prompted by unfortunate events. Sometimes, I just wake up in a crappy mood and spend the rest of the day managing it. Yes, managing it, not fixing it. If I expect to totally fix it, I’m just setting myself up for failure and a worse mood. So, I settle for things that might make me feel slightly less negative.

If you’re a regular person with normal emotions, this may sound pessimistic, but if you’ve ever dealt with a mood disorder of any kind, you know what I’m talking about. When your f&^ked up brain chemistry is insisting you’re angry or depressed, it’s not something that’s going to be resolved with a hot bath or a walk. That’s not to say we don’t try those things or that they don’t help a little. But don’t expect us to stand outside, sniff the glorious (pollen-laden) air and suddenly declare, “Ain’t life grand?”

The reason I came home and stripped off most of my clothes is because I need to listen to my intuition about what will make me feel better, even if it’s weird. My body was telling me, “This itches, and it doesn’t feel good on the bloated belly.” In the past I would have ignored it, because I hadn’t planned on changing clothes 20 minutes after I put them on and because it didn’t make sense. Fuck sense (oh, did I forget to censor that?)

Here’s the deal: I am actually a pretty positive person. I am grateful for the life I have. I have a supportive, loving family, I have a good career, and I like myself more than I ever did in my 20’s and 30’s. I just want some space to have a crappy day every once in a while. I want some space to complain now and then. Maybe if we were all allowed to do that, we wouldn’t insist on everyone pretending to be so goddamned happy all the time.

I am inclined to end this with “now, fuck off,” but that’s not fair to you. I’ve pretty much had the same sentiment about everything I’ve encountered thus far today, from our dog to the newspaper laying in the driveway. So I’ll try to be better. Thanks for reading, and if you’d like to tell me to “fuck off” when you see me later today, feel free. I’ll totally understand.