How many of you out there talk to yourselves? Oh, I’m not talking the occasional thump on the head with an out loud, “You idiot!” I’m not talking about verbally remembering something in the grocery store. I’m not even talking about that occasional mumble to yourself because you are irritated, or the shout out to the idiot driver who just cut you off or (in my sister’s case) honked at you at a stop light.
I am talking about full-fledged, out loud, actual conversations or speeches. I’m talking about the kind of talking to yourself that leads to an “Ah ha!” moment wherein you REALIZE you are talking to yourself and then look around to make sure no one heard you. The kind of talking to yourself that sucks you in, because you feel the conversation deep into your very core.
I have started doing this.
I believe stress is causing it.
Just the other day, while blow drying my hair, looking strait in the mirror at myself, I had a conversation with my son – a WHOLE conversation – wherein I told him how ridiculously irritating his princess of a wife was in my eyes. Yep. I was telling him everything about her that pisses me off. The blow dryer was running at a deafening roar (I have a lot of hair) and my mouth was moving as if there was a freight train coming to knock me off the tracks!
“You don’t know what it’s like to be home with her day in and day out! When she does the dishes, she puts things away wherever she wants to, and never in the same place twice! Since WHEN do we put the knives in the drawer when there is a block for the knives right on the counter? And when we put the knives in the block, why can’t we figure out that the LARGE knives go at the top together where there are three slots for the three large knives, and there are six steak knives with six slots all in a row for them. Count them! SIX!!! And how many times do I have to tell her that you do NOT put large items on the top of the dishwasher and leave the bottom empty? Oh, and speaking of the dishwasher, this business of realizing AFTER dinner that the dishes were never run from earlier in the day, and then not doing dinner dishes because she has to start the dishwasher that is already full? Yeah, THAT better stop! Or she will lose her seat at the table! And tell her that asking ME what is for dinner is NOT ACCEPTABLE! She can eat whatever I serve, without knowing in advance since she is so lazy she cannot cook. If she doesn’t like it, she can buy more food! Or she can starve!! I realize you love her, but son, enough is enough. Look, just tell me one thing: WHY, when she finds the fudging sweeper in the closet with the handle to the back so the door to the closet will close, does she put the damned thing away with the handle facing the door and then struggle to close the closet, only to leave it partially open, EVERY FREAKING TIME?? I’ll tell you what. I cannot take an unruly, unmanageable house. And if I hear her say she is an adult and can do whatever she wants to my grandson one more time? I’m going to beat the poop out of her to prove just what a fudging child she IS!” On and on it went. It takes me 20 minutes to blow dry my hair. Somewhere around the time I shut the blow dryer off and started applying hair spray, I stopped mid-sentence, looked at myself in the mirror, and thought,
“Holy bananas! I’m nuts! I’ve lost my mind!”
Thinking to myself, “Ooohhh, a banana for breakfast sounds good!”
The last couple of weeks have been days sent straight from Hades. On a Tuesday, my youngest son (age 24) called to ask me if I could come get him because he got a flat tire on the freeway. Not just a flat tire, really, but the FOURTH flat tire in about six months. We had offered to replace this exact tire, in fact, when he got the LAST flat tire, Flat Tire No. 3. He refused because he didn’t want to accept the help. Very brave, but it may have saved some trouble down the line, right?
The next day, Wednesday, my oldest son (the one I had the last imaginary conversation with) screwed up his medications and ended up zoning out on his way home from work, pulling into the parking lot to the apartment complex next to us, and falling asleep in the parking lot – FOR THREE HOURS! I had called the phone company to trace the location of his phone who told me they couldn’t do it unless a cop called them. I called the cops to have them come over and make the call. I called his dad and he and his girlfriend went out looking for him at the bars his co-workers frequent to no avail. I called his brother who all but blew up his phone. Finally he answered his phone, disoriented, and said he didn’t know where he was but there were buildings all around. His brother guided him home, and thank God he didn’t get pulled over because he is in nursing school, and a DUI is a DUI, no matter the reason. Add to that the fact that when he pulled into the parking lot, his wife (the daughter-in-law in the conversation above) went out the door as if she was a lower class hill rat, flung open the car door, and smacked him in the face! WTF!! It was an episode straight out of Cops or Cheaters!
That night, in the bathroom, after everything calmed down, I’d had a few glasses of wine, and the hubby and I had decided to go to bed, I picked up a book (don’t judge – you ALL know you read on the toilet), and my mouth started as I stared blankly at the words on the page. “You boys just don’t understand a damned thing about being a mother. Just because you are grown men doesn’t mean I am not protective of you and want to keep you sheltered in life. Just because you are grown doesn’t mean I don’t want to be part of those areas in life you need a little assistance. However, ENOUGH IS ENOUGH! The problem isn’t having to give assistance to you. The problem is the amount of assistance you require!! You are 25 and 26 years old this year and at some point, you have to be able to compensate for your own errors. I cannot keep coming to your aid like this. You have to get a fudging grip on life – that’s right, grab life by the horns – and steer it already! Accept help when it’s offered so that maybe next time, you won’t need help! You are stressing me out!! You have no idea what these phone calls do to me. You have no inkling as to what my body goes through each time you guys cause me stress! DO YOU SEE THIS GRAY HAIR??? (Tugging at my hair.) YOU gave me this gray hair! You need to start handling your business or I’m going to handle it for you and you won’t want me meddling that deeply in your business! Trust me on THAT one! So the next time there is an emergency, I want you to forget…”
In the background I hear, “Good night girls.” That’s the hubby saying good night to our nine month old puppies. Then I realize I have not only been talking out loud for 10 minutes, but my butt cheeks are sore because I was sitting on the freaking toilet seat that long! I was sure I had a ring around my ass cheeks…tsk tsk tsk. I am nuts!! I really am!!
The other day, I had blood drawn. I have an issue keeping my Potassium level up. Anyhow, this blood was drawn on Monday, and the results should have been available to me by Tuesday. It was a BMP (Basic Metabolic Panel) and those only take a day. Here it is Thursday, and I haven’t gotten them yet. This morning I checked MyChart, and they still weren’t there. My mouth started. “I have asked you people three times to post those results and yesterday you told me Dr. Garwood was the only one who could release them. Who in the hell is Dr. Garwood? I have never met this guy! He has never seen me in the office. I couldn’t find him in a Where’s Waldo picture let alone if he were standing in my own front yard. What is the freaking hold up? Why is this taking so long? I have emailed and left two messages on the nurse line. I have talked to the receptionist twice. What in the fudging hell is the hold up? I am sick to death of pulling teeth to get my own freaking medical information. HIPAA laws aside, I am not asking for the Pope’s information. I am asking for my own! It’s MINE! That’s why it’s called “MyChart”. Give it to me already before I come down there and punch you in the face!”
“Grama, what’s wrong?”
UGH! Caught! “Grama is just mad the doctor won’t give her the test results she wants, that’s all. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Can I have Doritos for breakfast?” Thank GOD he’s only four. Teehee! He has no clue his Grama is an absolutely certifiable insane woman!
“No you may not. Have some Fruit Loops!” (No pun intended! Ha!)
I need one of these in my home…
It sure would make life easier…and might actually quiet my mind and my mouth!