So as you know, I turned in my
final essay for my second Masters class. And as you know, from this post or this post there was a significant
amount of stress. Apparently the way my body and mind handle stress is sort of
like being possessed. Stress just keeps circulating until it finds something to
focus on. While I am in school or working, it possesses things like essays or
stupid bosses. When I get a moment when I don’t have a deadline, it starts
worrying that I will exorcise it so it tries to appear useful. (You may be
getting a bit confused at this point, I sure am. I think I used up all of my
ability to explain myself on my final essay… It may or may not be useful for
you to continue reading. I also used up all of my ability to sort relevance on
my last essay. I am sure, at some point, I will make sense and hopefully make
you laugh if you hang in there. If you are bored though, call me for coffee
because I probably haven’t had time to catch up with you and now I do. Although,
you should know, I have lost all ability to filter my words; so whatever I am
thinking just flies out of my mouth… depending on who you are this could be
great fun! Back to the stress-demon-possession metaphor that is clearly not
working.) For example, the day after I finished my final essay, I awakened at
three am in a panic because I had left some clothes at Liz’s house. At first it
was just because they have a small house and they are trying to use their
garage to run a business. So I was freaking out that we had made their life
difficult by not taking the clothes. But then, because they are outside, (sort
of not really) I suddenly thought they would all go moldy. This is strange for
several reasons. First, because I normally care very little for material possessions.
(Not because I am some sort of oh-aren’t-we-cool-we-don’t-need-stuff people but
mainly because I hate dusting, so most of our stuff is in our garage.) And
second because clothes don’t just go moldy.
Then as if the two
thoughts were connected, my stress decided that all of the other soccer moms
were having a secret meeting in which they discuss how loud I am when cheering
at soccer games and also that I am too hard on Amelia when she makes a bad play.
They were meeting in a church basement with dim lighting and coffee brewing in
one of those industrial size silver thingys with the spout. There were, of
course, no donuts because they are all better than me at eating well too. Probably
perfecting the paleo diet… They were discussing what a terrible mother I am and
were planning their next meeting where they would call me in for an
intervention. (If they do call me, I am going to insist that my
I-am-a-mean-mom-intervention has donuts. First because I love donuts and second
because then they will all fail at their paleo diets and I can secretly laugh
at them. And it will give me a chance to say, “well I may be a bad mom but you
all just failed at health”. Although, now that I think of it, it could backfire
because I would say this with donut in my mouth so then I am failing at health
AND mother things… damn the loop holes in diabolical plans!!!)
Now I must say,
that this was not some half-asleep thing; this was eyes open, staring into the
void, cold (because it is freezing here, by freezing, I mean - the cold chases you
like a serial killer obsessed. It is everywhere you go even inside…) terror. I thought about a way I could text every
soccer mom and apologize but I couldn’t work out what exactly to apologize for…
Also because I have no filtering system at the moment I may accuse them of
failing their paleo diet… so the apology would have gone: “Hey all soccer moms
before you host a intervention without donuts for me, you should know that I am
sorry for being a bad mom, also you should know you all are annoying. Stop
being better at everything, this is annoying. And eat a damn donut!”
Therefore, in lieu
of this, poor Liz got the brunt of it when I asked her to go “check on the
clothes”. Ever my patient friend, she reassured me that the clothes were fine but
the basket was broken. (The basket arrived at her house broken of course
because I am failing at even transporting clothes. Also I am failing at throwing away broken things because I always think at some point I will be magically good at fixing things but I never am.) It was as I was texting,
that I realized how irrational I had become and thought back to my night of moldy-church-meeting terror.
What had woken me
in the first place was a nightmare about a Sphynx cat. This was bad enough
because these cats scare me even when I am wide awake and they are cuddling a teddy
bear while sleeping. You never know what they could be planning for that poor innocent
teddy bear. I am pretty sure sphynx cats in particular (because really it could
be all cats but shpynx cats would be in charge) are always planning world
domination. Starting with, putting me in a prison run by cats. It would be
called Feline Dictatorship Rehabilitation Prison for Women. But this Sphynx cat
was sort of pink and gray and looked like it had survived the Holocaust. I am
not exaggerating or shamelessly using the holocaust here. I have spent the last six weeks thinking, reading
and writing about the Holocaust so now cats from my dreams have succumbed. Anyway,
the Auschwitz cat had been sleeping inside one of my favorite (of course) green
hoodies which was drying on the laundry line. It suddenly emerged like my
zipped up hoodie was giving birth to a half-dead Sphynx cat. At one point, it
looked like it was planning on wearing my hoodie, all zipped up and hood over
its head like a gangster then it popped out and looked evilly at me as it
walked past. (Not like, “Gee, please help me nice lady! I’m hungry!” but like “Yeah, I’m
a bad ass and even though I’m starving, I could destroy you.”) This is what woke me up. The laundry component
explains the worry about moldy clothes but I’m not sure about the soccer moms
meeting in the church basement. In the end I guess I can blame my stress acting
like a demon that possesses things. But then again, this could be because I
watched a movie on TV to unwind. I thought it would be good because Denzel
Washington plays a cop. I thought it was odd that I hadn’t seen it, as it was pretty
old, as I usually see all the movies where Denzel plays a cop; or saves the day;
or whatever. Turns out, I had probably decided not to see the movie when it was
first released because it was not a
detective movie at all; it was a demon terrorizing New York movie in which
Denzel (spoiler alert! although the movie is from 1998 so you all probably saw
it already or if you didn’t you shouldn’t) DIES. Because he is trying to kill
the Demon inside himself AND it doesn’t even work because the demon just
possesses a cat… Now if I had seen the movie before the cat dream, we could be
getting somewhere; unfortunately the movie only explains why I feel like my
stress is possessing things. Not why I feel the need to obsess over clothing or
soccer moms suddenly going to church because of my bad parenting.
