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Blibbidy-bleh blah

20 Jul

Have you ever woken up with a crying headache (you know, the kind you get from crying) for no good reason (you know, because you weren’t actually crying)?  Although, this weekend I’ve been on the verge a couple of times, so maybe I’m getting the side-effects of the crying without the benefits I would get from the actual crying.  I guess the benefits would be letting it all out (you know, like a good cleansing cry).  I’m not sure how beneficial that really is.  Do I really feel good after a good cry?  Is there even such a thing as a good cry?  I think I’m more likely to have a good scream or a good freak out, as far as cleansing benefits go.  I usually don’t have a headache afterwards, at least.  Though there is that pesky guilt thing. 

I’ve been having really strange dreams lately.  Bad dreams.  The kind with random gunmen and family members in mortal danger.  This always happens when I’m anxious about something, even if it has nothing whatsoever to do with a family member.  I always transfer my anxiety to my family.  Unfortunately, it’s not only in my dreams.  I spent the weekend completely devoid of patience and kind of screaming (well, maybe not screaming, but there was definitely some voice-raising) and freaking out.  But not the good, cleansing screaming and freaking out, just the pesky guilt-inducing kind.  Because even though my kids are driving me completely bonkers with their bickering and whining, this isn’t so much beyond the norm so I really have no good reason to get so upset because it’s not about them, it’s about my anxiety which has nothing whatsoever to do with them.  Poor things.

Speaking of dreams, I had another disturbing dream this weekend in which I noticed Chuck’s chest was completely covered in stubble, like hair that had been removed and was then growing back (I guess that was for those of you who don’t know what stubble is).  Chuck doesn’t have chest hair, which, by the way, I love, and I remember being really angry with him that all these years he did actually have chest hair—like lots of it—and was just constantly removing it so I wouldn’t notice.  I felt betrayed, like I’d never known him at all.

You know what I need?  Closure.  I can’t stand leaving things unresolved.  I don’t like unfinished stories.  I hate those books with the ambiguous endings or that seem to stop in the middle of the story.  I want to know how it continues, how it ends.  I think it’s because it feels incomplete.  You know how I am with the incompleteness. 

One time I discovered that our toy cash register was missing the quarter.  Naturally, I looked for it (and by looked, I mean turned the house upside down), but I never found it.  It’s been like five years since it went missing, and although I still notice it’s gone whenever someone gets out the cash register, it no longer causes me pain.  Not significant pain, at least. 

So I am capable of getting over things.  I am.  I just would rather not have to.