My life is trying to kill me…or is it?

I am your “average” 50 year old woman. I have a job, kids, grandkids, paid & unpaid bills and all that goes along with that circus. “Circus”? you may ask. Yes circus. It feels like circus performers, like the bearded lady or the man with 14 toes have more stability and peace of mind than I do.

Now, I am not suggesting that I am not partially responsible for my personal Ringling Bros. side show a lot of the time. But I cannot fathom all the circumstances of my daily life are self inflicted and they can only be described as attempted murderers.

The one hour commute each way to my job is maddening. It is not the actual drive that makes me crazy, its the people I encounter along the way who have contracted some form of “vehicular amnesia”. Vehicular amnesia seems to be linked to all things that fall from the sky. E.g. 14 snowflakes that fall can cause a pandemic of people forgetting how to freaking drive, causing me what amounts to a “situational Tourettes” episode. What is situational Tourettes? Well, that’s when a situation I must endure that causes a barrage of “colorful language” to flow from my lips as effortlessly as songs of cherubs flow from angels lips. My mother would say I use this type of language for attention and she’s partially correct. I am uninterested in having eyes oogle me or have people ask me questions like an interview or interrogation. I prefer that the individual(s) responsible for my vocal tirade simply adjust their behavior. I am not cussing like a truck driver for my damn health. I’m swearing like that because 99.9% (no scientific evidence here, just me being me) of the people I encounter on the roadways absolutely cannot drive.  Point. Blank. Period.

Ok, back to my life being a psychopath. After the commute, its time to be a “professional”. While this comes easily to a lot of adults, I am not one of those adults. I have poor impulse control, coupled with a juvenile boy sense of humor. No matter how many times I hear the baseball announcer say, “No balls, two strikes”, I will laugh uncontrollably. That is freaking hilarious to me. Anyway, it is almost impossible to be professional when you think everything is funny. Do people have mirrors in their houses? I find that to be impossible judging by the get up some of these peeps rock on a daily basis. (Mom, these folks are definitely looking for attention and they have caught mine and now I am distracted and still sweating from my drive in to work!)

After doing the required 8.5 hour sentence for a crime I never got convicted of (I am grateful to have a job, but 8.5 hours I’m held against my will is the definition of jail time), the drive home… And the vehicular amnesia people never disappoint.

Once home, the “clean & orderly” kicks into full swing. My kids would say O.C.D. I scoff at that accusation. Just because everything has a right angle, a place & a shine in no way translates into a mental health diagnosis. Being clean & orderly is the only way I can operate. My kids are just slobs. Period. (Argument or topic of another post…) I do a few little chores, answer some emails, voice mails & texts, then I am bored and looking for something to do. This is where I should stop, drop & roll; however, I do not and I wind up getting involved in a project that most people would plan for their two week vacation in the summer. I reshingle 2/3 of the roof, start to make that bbq pit I always wanted or start to build that second set of stairs that would come in handy. Yep, I start projects like this on a random Tuesday night for no other reason than boredom. This is probably why I have 66 unfinished minor to major projects at any given time. But I pride myself on that one thing I finished back in 2004! That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

All things considered, my quirky style & crazy life is actually pretty freaking cool and I wouldn’t want it any other way (sans the idiots in the hammer lane on the highway doing 42mph!) Until next time…

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