I had a completely self-absorbed and quite exhausting ‘what’s it all about?’ moment in the car on the way to work this morning. I am prone to over-thinking about absolutely nothing, as I’ve mentioned a few gazillion times before in my blog.
In my defence, it WAS Monday morning, I hadn’t had my coffee and Kurt and I had already been text-warring for at least an hour. Then again, I couldn’t blame my period, hormones, or even any extra weight, in spite of that entire brie I consumed yesterday. But for some reason my brain refused to accept that my life is not mundane and simply going through the motions.
I ruminated all day.
It makes writing a blog a bit tricky when you get a meh, ‘what’s it all about?’ moment. The blogging experts tell us that no-one wants to read negativity, that people read blogs to enlighten and brighten their day, especially when your niche is humor. And usually I can shake off the blues by laughing at myself – almost.
Obviously I tried to blame the old man, which gave me some short-lived consolation, especially when we had a full-blown domestic, blue-tooth to blue-tooth in the car park, until he hung up on me. In my experience, unexplained ‘blueness‘ is often eased if you can share and apportion blame on someone else, but he refused to play the game today. He tends to run a mile (Usain Bolt- quickly) from the inexplicable female mood swing.
And it was inexplicable.
So I tried a new strategy. I tried to think positively and transform my ‘what’s it all about’ moment to a ‘what I’m grateful for’ moment. Here’s what I came up with:
WHAT I’M GRATEFUL FOR:
This is what I wake up to every morning.
I haven’t crossed paths with the bitch from the block in weeks.
Brad and Ange finally tied the knot, which means that we can all relax and focus on real news, like the impending world war.
Kurt’s exams, which have been festering like roadkill for the whole of this term, are finally here. Othello is the most boring Shakespeare play EVER written – FACT. Kurt should get full marks for writing an essay about a play he has never read, nor understands. This is on our kitchen wall.
This weekend I found THE MOST PERFECT yellow cushion to coordinate with my new Aboriginal painting. I hope this stops my OCD cushion anxiety getting out of control, finally.
Obviously I need to dye the Princess.
The Bachelor, for keeping me equally entertained and appalled by reminding me what the perfect male physique looks like, that romance used to be quite fun and that we have gone back to Dickensian times if women are judged on their ability to bake a cake.
It’s Spring and for one whole day we had sunshine, warmth and vitamin D.
My favourite wine is on ‘special.’
In four weeks time I will be stretched out on a beach in Hamilton Island with earplugs in to drown out the dulcet tones of dysfunctional family bickering.
And this is what else I wake up to in the morning.