Bumps in the Road

So… It was a pretty productive day.  Everything I needed to get done got done, and I did a little resting and relaxing in between.  But it wasn’t a super fast day…  I just don’t spend whole days doing chores quickly.  My brain doesn’t seem to be able to function that way, and usually I’m pretty good at celebrating days when I get a lot of things done (with a lot of breaks) because that didn’t used to happen.  I used to get overwhelmed by one thing and have a meltdown and that was basically my day.

But… my timing was a little lax so I ran a little late into the evening and things got a little crammed up (waiting on bed sheets to finish drying so I could make the bed, could have taken a shower while waiting but didn’t, so had to take a shower after making the bed, after waiting for the drier… still have to wait for work clothes to come out of the drier in a few more minutes…  It’s already 20 minutes past my “be in bed” time and I haven’t written my blog yet.

So… I’m not feeling super successful, and starting to feel a little panicky, even though, really, things are under control… I’m just getting into that place in my head.

Then Sir picks up a piece of mail from the side table and under it is a bill that I was supposed to mail a month ago.  I have been saying every weekend I was going to mail it, and every week day that I’d take it with me to work and swing by the mailbox on my way home… and still… here it sits.

And Sir, because we’ve all been stressed and overwhelmed lately hadn’t really been on top of MAKING me put it in my purse and take it with me.  Not that that’s his job, I’m an adult and I’m responsible for my bills, not him.  But… normally he would have been on top of that kind of detail, but he just hasn’t lately.  A lot of details have slid like they do when we all manage to hit work stress at the same time (kinda like planets aligning…)

So Sir sees this bill and he kind of throws the other piece of mail down on the table and says, “Jesus Fucking Christ!”  Then he grabs the bill and puts it in his coat pocket.

I said, “I’m sorry, I’ll take it tomorrow.”

He said, “It’s fine, I’ll just take care of it, I should have just done it weeks ago.”

Now, he doesn’t say this in a belittling way, although those words could be said that way.  And he somehow doesn’t make it sound like he’s angry with ME, but rather disgusted with himself.  And probably that’s really what he IS thinking because he considers it his responsibility to help me stay on track or just help me with things that are serious weak points for me, and for whatever reason, anything related to mail (picking up mail, reading mail, sending mail) is a hard-core weak point.

But, of course, despite my rational brain hearing that he isn’t angry with me, that he’s taking the responsibility on himself… The fact that he has to do it.  The fact that he lost his temper, or not even his temper, but his patience… which he almost never does… the fact that… I failed to do what I need to do… I feel like a failure.

And it’s almost 9 and I still have a lot of things to do this week.  And I’m feeling already like I won’t be able to get everything done, and I can’t even mail a bill and… anxiety is trying very hard to ramp itself into a full blown attack.

I have to go get work clothes out of the drier.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

Like