Being overwhelmed

Sometimes it feels like the ship is just not going to fucking float much longer.

Everything needs maintenance, myself included. Work sucks. There are layoffs in the air, and everyone is talking about them except the people who might know something. The washing machine still might be leaking except I am too chicken to turn the water back on and do a load of laundry because  I don’t like the mildewy smell in the laundry room one bit. The house looks like wild pigs live here, and I can’t remember how to use my loom.

I don’t have the emotional or physical bandwidth to deal with it. I am tired, irritable, anxious and just plain stressed out. This is not something I am used to. I might overthink everything recreationally, but I am usually not anxious on a day to day basis.

It’s temporary, and things will work out. They always do. But I have no clean socks or underwear and someone needs to sack up, turn the fucking water on in the utility room and wash some clothes around here. And while they are at it, they should clean the gutters and take the glass recycling out. And that mammogram isn’t going to schedule itself and neither is the cat’s overdue vet appointment. And the inside handle on the passenger side door of my car buzzes when I play music with heavy drums and needs to visit the Lexus dealer because Elvis Costello should not be buzzy.

I can’t do it all, and I know (with my logical brain) that I don’t have to. I managed to get through the day without swearing at anyone. That is all I could manage. Basic competence. If anyone had heard the constant screaming inside my head, they’d have run.

On the plus side, and there is always one, I get to see my friends and family this weekend. It’s my birthday, and Ma will bake me a pie. I will get hugs and boozes, and we’ll watch football and be happy. There might even be an appearance by my favorite bald farmer.

I feel better already.

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