RouletteWeekend

Rainy November days seem to hit the hardest. The leaves are falling off the trees as my happiness for summer sun retreats. And the rain just feels extra sad and wet. Yesterday was a rainy November day.

I tried to be productive when I woke up, but I’ve overdone it with my mountain hike and stair climbing this week, so one of my legs was especially sore and burning near my ankle yesterday and the day before. At first, I thought it was a blood clot, but when I woke up on day two, I realized it was probably just wishful thinking and if a blood clot wasn’t going to take me out of the game, I decided I would bench myself yesterday.

So I sat half the day and watched TV with mother in law. I took a nap and then I went to an author talk downtown around 5pm.

I went with the hopes that listening to a successful author talk would make me feel happy or give me some kind of spark of creative energy, and it worked while I was there, in the room, listening to her, but when it was over, the weather outside reflected my own inner anger for getting to this point in my life having done nothing I had dreamed of doing.

And as I drove home, even though the storm outside got further away, the disappointment and anger brewing inside me came closer and closer to the surface. I pride myself on being the queen of “fine.” I pride myself on my “it will all work out the way it is supposed to” attitude. I pride myself on being able to work through the hard stuff and get to the other side of it having learned a lesson of some sort.

I might as well have been driving a convertible yesterday, because all that shit flew out the window.

Every red light, every extra minute it took to get back to this house from the part of town that I love added a little and a little more fuel to my inner fire. And then I got home. I got home to this house that seems like nothing ever gets done if I’m not the one to do it. It smelled like dog and while I love my own dogs and I know that sometimes that happens, it pissed me off. Partly because I don’t care for the other two dogs that live here. Not that I don’t care for them, they are fine, their home training is what I dislike. I’ve never been a “puppy pee pad” dog owner. I don’t care how small the dog is, I don’t think dogs ever need to learn how to use the bathroom inside, but I also, put my kids on a toilet practically before they could walk, so maybe that’s on me.

But these dogs, one of them, especially, has gotten in the habit of using the bathroom in the house on anything that resembles a pee pad. A rug, a towel, her own dog bed, and her personal favorite, the brand new carpet upstairs that we had put in when we moved here and to top it all off, my carpet cleaner isn’t working properly. Actually, that’s not the top, the top is that whenever she pees in the house, instead of spraying it and actually cleaning it up, my better half just throws a towel over it and walks away. THAT’S my boiling point.

Anyway, it was a combination of every single thing over the last 10 months that were all piled precariously on top of one another and then I went to hear a successful author speaking and that last piece of my failures or procrastination, whichever it was, landed like a feather on top of that pile and came crashing down last night.

I tried to be “fine.” I tried to be “everything works out like it’s supposed to.” I tried to be “there’s a lesson in this.” And Will tried to be loving and supportive and wanted to talk about it and I bit his head off and ended up sleeping alone. So, I guess, maybe it’s not all “fine.”