Obsessing again.

Okay, it’s going on three weeks of not being able to let shit go. I caught myself retorting out loud in the car this morning what I would say to anyone who asked why I was so upset.

Why am I talking aloud to myself? I can’t get over my SIL copping attitude with me on the phone about my MIL watching three grandkids at one time. It’s going on three weeks and I still can’t seem to shake it off. We haven’t spoken since the phone call and I doubt either of us will make the first move to clear the air. Is that right? Probably not. Is it the way it is? Yes. At some point we’ll have to face each other. I can’t help but wonder how that will turn out. I’m sure she’ll pretend nothing is wrong. And if she’s going to pretend, so am I because I’m sure as hell not going to put myself out there anymore. I’m done with all that.

Anyway. So my dad is back home. I was feeling pretty relieved until my sister called me up and asked, “Who sings The Long and Winding Road?” Paul McCartney, I think, why? “Oh, because that’s the song dad said he wants played at his funeral.” WTF?

He’s fifty-fucking-six years old. And he’s already picking out his farewell song? And you’re going along with it? What the fuck is wrong with you people? You know what? I’m sick of the melodramatic bullshit. Take care of yourself then. Stop eating like shit. Hop in the treadmill sitting in the corner collecting dust. And stop feeling sorry for yourself. Don’t tell your kids what song you want played at your funeral. That’s fucking horrible. I love you, but I refuse to play along with your woe is me crap. You can change things… you just don’t want to do the work. So, yeah, go ahead and kill yourself off early, but I’m not going to feel sorry for you while you do it.

So, yes, I am feeling pretty bad for myself right now. I’m frustrated at a lot of people. And I’m sick of being the one who’s responsible for making everything right and keeping the peace. The alpha in me has been caged up for a long time, lying dormant in the corner. Watching. Waiting. Graciously relenting. But I can feel her stirring again. Restless. Tired of choking down all that guilt and self-doubt.

So I wouldn’t stick your fingers anywhere near the cage if I were you.