Friday, October 5, 2007

Wherein I admit to vulnerability.

Apparently, I’m a raw nerve today. When Xtian and I left the house this morning, he was teasing me because I couldn’t seem to find the right words for things (you know, like, “car” and “keys.” Pregnancy brain is no joke, folks). Normal, good-natured teasing that characterizes our relationship. Except then I managed to set off the car alarm and couldn’t get it to turn off (Public apology to all my neighbors who had to hear that at 4:30 this morning!), then when I finally started my car, I forgot it was in gear and stalled the fuck out of it.
Xtian kept being silly and teasing, and I lost it, jammed the car into gear and sped the fuck out of there. Then I started crying. Because I’m crazy.

I went to the gym and beat the hell out of myself for being such a pansy assed bitch. Xtian called me as I was just getting on the road to go to work, and I apologized for being insane, and started crying again. I suck ass. He felt horrible, and had no reason to. So, now I feel horrible because he shouldn’t have to deal with my bullshit.

I think I’m having a hard day, for no reason. It’s Friday. I have a three-day weekend (thanks banking industry for deciding that a European dude who never set foot on this continent and thought he was in India, necessitates a day off work!), and I have permission to take off work early as hell. So, why can I not handle even the slightest of mishaps without bursting into wracking sobs?

I am not this person. I rarely cry, let alone let loose pitiful, hiccupping sobs. And I hate being that girl. But jebus, I just feel so unwieldy and out of control of my own body. I can’t even roll over in bed without strategizing the proper tactical maneuvers. I’m not usually very clumsy but these days I feel like I can’t do anything. I’ve cut my hands on every remotely sharp object I’ve come into contact with for the last week, I’ve slammed doors on my own feet, belly, hands and in one AWESOME occurrence I slammed my own head into the doorframe of my car. This shit feels alien, and I’m not very good at being out of control of my body (hence recreational drug use was never my bag).

Even now, after my Friday morning mocha, I can’t seem to keep it together. Everything is making me teary eyed and choking-breathed. What the fuck is going on here folks? Have I finally turned the last corner into certifiably nuts?

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