Stop it.

With the new year already not as new I am already feeling allergic to myself. Poor G asked how I was feeling 2 nights ago and I think he would have been much better off after prayers to fake sleep.  It was like he brought a little sand pail and shovel asking for a little sand and instead got an entire emotional sand dune dumped on his head.  I had a slight emotional eruption and crying ash and debris was flying every where as I blubbered from one topic to the other without any logical sequence.  I first went into a fascinating dissection of how I will never be as organized or clean as G.  If G organized a parking lot it would look like this:

 

I then started into how my post pregnancy pooch is like bread dough glued to my gut and how my thighs are not toned and how I do not feel attractive and in my mind I feel like if Liv and I went on a bike ride we look like this (keep in mind that when I am running on emotion with techron, all my images and opinions of myself and the world are grossly distorted but realistic in the moment nonetheless):

Then I finished up with all the things that I feel like I can't change because the same weaknesses have been my barnacle buddies my entire existence and I want to be so much better than I am.  I was like a burbling guyser at yellowstone reeking of drama instead of sulfur as I then launched into a description about how I miss having friends and feel like I am in solitary confinement even though I keep the laws of the land and how being a mom is dang hard. I'm pretty sure I also gave a few shout outs of anti "living in the middle of nowhere" sentiments and how walmart is my source of social joy and interaction with some other irrational comments about how I am not the mother and wife I want to be.

Then we kissed and took this picture. Yea right. Ha. The picture above is what I thought love looked like. So wrong. More accurate would be a pic of me laying in our bed at 1 am crumpled up like a pile of garage sale clothes needing to be sorted with my too big electric orange panama t-shirt and garment bottoms that my brother Mike calls pirate panties, with untoned arms and puffy eyeballs smelling a lot like banana flavored puffs thanks to Liv and mascara staining our white pillowcase that I should have put in the laundry 2 weeks ago and blubbering like a whale.  I didn't marry G because he looks good in pictures (even though he does).  I married him for who he is in moments just like the one described above.  He didn't fix anything at all (he knows way better than that) or even try to be logical (heaven forbid).  He just held me until we fell asleep and when I woke up, I magically felt great. I think the real solution is the clip above.  We all have moments when we realize that we are allergic to ourselves and want to be something different or somewhere different (or maybe just I do and I'm feeling embarrassed for this entire post). I just need to stop it.  Two simple words that I don't apply often enough!  I need to just stop it. It really is that simple. I just forget that in the middle of an Mount St. Chel emotional eruption.  I can change. I just need to stop it.  But in the meantime, I'm really grateful for a man who loves me anyway. Bread dough belly, banana puffs and all.