I'm in a funk this week. Too many of my loved ones are hurting, and I can't fix them. I am a control freak, and I like to fix things and have everything be good and everyone happy. No drama for this mama, I just can't stand it.
So, being in my funk, I have very random thoughts. I stay up too late, thinking. I drive 2 hours a day, thinking. I stand in the shower, thinking. I walk on the treadmill, thinking. I can't keep my mind on work, I forget why I went into a room or what I was supposed to do, and I have that constant distracted feeling about me.
So today's thoughts started with wondering how I was going to zig zag between Winchendon and Gardner tonight to go to dek hockey (on the W/G line) for 5, then to softball (Winch) for 5:15, then back to dek hockey for 6 and then back to the Winch and then to Gardner for a hockey meeting at 7. Ya, it was too much for me, we skipped dek hockey.
Then my thoughts jumped to words I hate. I was listening to the radio, and the DJ kept saying the word "panties" over and over. I hate that word. Maybe I watch too much Law & Order SVU, but every time they use the word panties it refers to either a sexually abused child or a rape victim. So yeah, I hate that word.
Another word I hate is pantyhose, and maybe because it is a derivative of panties, I don't know, but I don't like it. Is it supposed to mean a pair of panties with hoses hanging off of it for your legs? Like a flat fireman's hose that fills up with water, much the way the legs of pantyhose lie limp until a pair of legs fill them up?
My next hated word is actually a phrase that a coworker uses: "boo boo belly". This is in reference to a stomachache or an upset stomach, but every time she says it, which is almost daily because she has constant stomach issues, it goes through me like nails on a chalkboard, and I feel like she is a grandmother trying to talk to a 2 yr old and explain why the toddler's tummy hurts.
The next two words go together: "blouse" and "slacks". To me they imply old lady clothing, a silky top with a really bad print paired with a polyester pair of pants with an elastic waist. Any time I hear those words, I immediately think ugly, old lady clothes and am reminded of the Blair ads I used to see in the Parade section of the Sunday paper. There is a reason those prices are so low, it is because they are trying to appeal to a Social Security or Retirement salary and...because they are ugly. So if someone says to me "Nice blouse" or "Are those new slacks?", I immediately want to remove the offensive items that immediately feel like they are burning my skin and throw them away or, at the very least, hide them in the back of my closet with the other clothes that I am too kind to throw away because I don't want to hurt their feelings, but there is an understanding that they will not be worn again. I secretly think that even though they know they won't fulfill their destiny in being worn, they are relieved that I have a "no kill policy".
The other side effect of my funk is that while I am disgusted with my body and weight and had all good intentions while grocery shopping over the weekend when I was funk-free, I am now irritated that there is no chocolate in my house. I have pushed past the granola bars, the pretzels and the low-fat crackers in search of chocolate chips. I have moved the cantaloupe, the strawberries and the watermelon in the fridge in search of a possible left over piece of fudge from Christmas. Why, oh why was I so motivated on Sunday when I was at the store? Is it too late, at 11:49 PM on a work night, to whip up a batch of brownies? What time will they be done and cool enough to eat? Too late, I suppose.
It's late, too much thinking, gotta get the funk out, or at least buy a candy bar first thing in the morning.