control

What is it about not having control of my surroundings that so scares me? I'm not really sure when, or why, it happened... But somewhere along the way my 'go with the flow' attitude transitioned to being a control freak. 

Spending almost a month in someone else's house, with someone else's things, and someone else's routines scares. As much as I may look forward to seeing my family, the thought of not holding the reins (for the most part) on what's happening actually gives me a feeling of fear. 

When I examine why it freaks me out, it really concerns me. I never wanted to be a control freak, and I don't think it's healthy. I have my routines, everything in it's place.  From the way I organize my kitchen to the schedule I keep in cleaning things...  Its sad to me, really. 

So for now, in preparation for my trip back home, I'm forcing myself into positive thinking, and trying to overcome this irrational need to be in control. 

sleeping

It really shouldn't be that hard to do.  I mean, it's one of the two things we're born knowing how to do, right? 

If I'm lucky, I'll get to sleep in one day a week, maybe.  I can live with this, because it's in my job description right next to the part about scrubbing gross things off of bathroom floors... 

So if I could meet the section of my brain in charge of sleep, I would ask him/her why, when given the chance to get an overabundant amount of sleep -  they've instead decided to hear every small noise that should happen within a mile radius of my bedroom. So rise-and-shine rolls around, Christian slowly and reluctantly gets up with Peter, leaving me to a warm bed, two fluffy pillows, and two nice heavy quilts. Heaven on a cold morning, basically.  

Does the perfect environment, and knowing I won't get this opportunity for -at least- a week make me shut the blinds in my head and sleep? No. An epic battle raged in my head, and the territory at stake being another 3 hours of sleep.  I won. But dammit why was it so hard? 

(video related this time)

please baby please

Having an actual blog makes me feel slightly conceited... but it's worth a shot.

Street cleaning day is always the most miserable day of my week. Inevitably I will be the one to move the car from the far side of the street to the other side of the street (where it won't be ticketed). But it must be moved before 9.00 o'clock. Not a big deal in the summer, but now that's it's about 10F outside it's a little miserable to layer a coat, scarf, gloves and hat over top of my sleep shirt and wander out, braless, into the frost bitten world beyond. 

And why, you may ask, does all of this have to happen? Why can't I stay warm and cozy under my quilt while my big tough man moves the car? Because I cave. I cave in to the sleepy eyed, pillowheaded, pitiful little grumbles of, "please, baby, please?".

In the early 1900's, women might not have been allowed to vote, but I'll be damned if they were doing a man's work (in this case, it applies to taking out the trash and moving the car on a freezing morning). Helen Kendrick Johnson would be turning in her grave.

I would give up a few social rights to never suffer through this again. 

(video unrelated)