Good Thursday To You

So last night, I had a mild, prickly anxiety all over, like wearing some uncomfortable, buzzing electric jumpsuit with a helmet. I fell asleep in Bird’s bed until 11:30p and had strange, mean dreams. I got up and let the dogs out, had a smoke, and had a hard time falling back to sleep in my own bed. Starting to think I’M the one taking brain-drugs to quit smoking.

But you know, come to think of it, yesterday I drank coffee in the morning, diet coke on the road, maybe a drop or two of water from the melty remains of the road coke, and then another diet coke (leftover from the baptism festivities) with my dinner. Usually it’s coffee and then waterwatertonsofwater. Maybe those were aspartame- or caffeine- induced dreams. But then again, my shoulders are tight, I’m grinding my teeth an awful lot, and I have brief moments where I feel like I could take off running right out of my skin. Hello, anxiety! To what do I owe this visit?

Maybe my job situation, which, as previously indicated, continues to suck. No longer a specific, intense sucking that starts angry fires here and there– that, at least, provokes emotion and action– but a prolonged and gray sucking that can now just be described as an overall drain.

I’m noticing in conversation that I am overly critical of things/ people, and I think this worklife dissatisfaction makes me too eager a critic in my real life. I’m a sorter and a get-to-the-bottom-of-it kind of gal, constantly finding the glaring errors and unsavory characteristics floating around my workplace, trying to put my finger on the reason for the gray sucking, now that the firey, precise sucking has passed. Also, I’m becoming a skilled case-builder, like a lawyer of grouchiness, assembling facts and events that, small on their own, combine into a guilty verdict of “I Don’t Like You.” In other words, I’m a grouch. A grouch too eager to point out what is wrong with whatever is in my line of sight. To assign blame for the sucking.

And maybe all of this grouchiness is making me a little anxious, too.

Also, my NCETMB exam is scheduled for Feb 28 at 11:00. Time to kick the studying into high gear. Or rather, actually begin the studying. When I thumbed through the calendar to check the dates, I realized it’s been a full year since I took kinesiology. But really, I’m okay with having not studied. It’s never real until I have a deadline anyway, and now it’s real, so now I study. Here we are, looking forward. simple.

Except! I’m in the middle of a wonderful book that I believe I can finish swiftly, but today I received notice that Animal, Vegetable, Miracle awaits me at East Branch Library. I think I was number ninety thousand and seven on the wait list, and finally, it is my day. Which sounds more interesting to you: the origin and insertion of every large and teensy muscle in the body or Animal, Vegetable, Miracle? What’s a girl to do?

Chantix update: Husband shows no signs of psychosis. And, on day 3, no signs of cigarettes seeming unappealing.

This morning, Bird and I were dressed and ready at a miracle of an hour, considering our family’s wake-time. Bird has been sleeping in, see. And for the last two years we’ve started the day with an urgent crying out for comfort from Bird, and now, well, the alarm gets far less compassion.

Anyway. We were ready, by some miracle, on time.

And then.

The cat started to puke. Bird is no stranger to cat puke, my little expert cat-puke spotter, shouting on Saturday mornings from the living room and pointing to a sizeable hairball in the doorway before any of us steps on it, barefoot, in the morning dark. But this morning! Oh! To actually SEE the actual CAT actually PUKING! With the retching and the scooting and the opening his mouth in that weird cat-puke way, where you think his face might peel right back off of his skull! And my Thomas, always the showman, put on an impressive puking display for Bird, being certain to spread four separate puke-puddles all over the parlor, dangerously close to piles of toys and laundry. Amazing!

I cleaned up the cat puke, while answering a barrage of questions about said puke.

And then, upon delivering Bird to daycare, she marched right up to the teacher and declared, “My cat puked! My cat puked! My cat puked!”

Hear Ye, Hear Ye!

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