Bleeding money right now, not only because we keep paying through the nose for ineffectual flea exterminations, but because I've taken to spending all my waking hours at coffee shops in an attempt to escape the constant, crazy-making vigilance that is my home life. I literally spent an hour and a half today staring at my feet before wresting myself away and hieing myself to the local joint.
Would everyone in my position be made this insane? I kinda doubt it. Every day, amongst our six billion souls, there are probably thousands skipping blithely down their flea-infested, larvae-ridden stairs. My husband, he of the temperament of eternal sunshine, is nonplussed. But I am seriously deranged.
Want to lose weight? Try constant nervous nausea! Want to keep a clean house? Try vacuuming obsessively for two hours a day! The good news is that I've finally shed the last of the Christmas cookie weight. The bad news is that I'm a ragged, hollow shell of myself.
My rational brain has some perspective. It could be worse; many folks have bigger problems; this isn't the end of the world, etc. My reptile brain is informing me in no uncertain terms that I need to quit my job, quit my marriage, move back to Indiana and live with my parents or possibly shoot myself because I AM UNDER THREAT.
There's really no talking to the reptile brain. We are who we are, at some basic level, and some of us are firmly convinced we are subject to predation. How do you speak to the portion of yourself that does not deal in words?
Please send smiting thoughts my way.