{{Two nights ago… (– or, three? Last night?) …I sat on the couch with The Rock, watching Kathy Griffin’s Life on The D List. We were laughing. Laughing hard. Then I did this thing where I laugh so much I kinda cry. Except it was a real cry. A burst of unexpected angst and unfounded sadness. It was like a cloud of free range despair hit me. Ungrounded and grazing desolation that found a willing host, then moved on to another pasture. And it completely freaked The Rock out because three minutes later I was laughing again.
Which brings me to this. I don’t want to write at this time. I need to process. Or not? Maybe not. I need to unthink more like. I want to hermitize. I want to burrow. And escape. And not have you guys judge me because I don’t pen anything insightful or borderline humorous. No, not judge. Just shake your heads sadly and say, “What’s happened to her? She used to be less clunky and awkward-phrasing.”
It’s just I’m a little emotional and also dead inside. There’s a lot to do. I’m putting it off. But it’s there. I feel it and I need to unplug.
And find a new lipgloss. That always works.
Meanwhile, please to enjoy the below. I wrote it awhile ago, but it’s an evergreen.
Also, pray for The Rock and his kindred. As should be evident by now, I don’t handle stress and bodily chemical explosions well, even resulting from something as wonderful as a move to cul-de-sac-atopia.}}
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I’m telling you this PMS is trouble.
Saturday night, I engaged in yet another argument with the Rock, where I broke down crying over some allusion to my mother and because he dragged his feet, I thought hallucinated, over whether to spend some one-on-one time with me Saturday night.
The thing with the Rock and I — we can argue. We’re both opinionated, stubborn, right-fighters, who get wrapped around the axle and don’t let go. We’re working on this, really, truly working on this. But when I’m emotionally unstable, all lessons learned go out the window and no way, no how can you tell me anything if I’ve determined I’ve been wronged.
I still wasn’t convinced it was the PMS. The Rock tried to tell me, but surely, my upsetedness came from another source. I mean, hadn’t I had the PMS now, for what? going on 2 weeks? I need to get checked out.
Anyway, we had the night to ourselves after having dropped both kids off at grandma’s house. And I was pissy because I mistook his suggestion to check out a music venue as hating me and wishing I’d just go away. So I retaliated with silence, because I know he loves it when I do that.
Inside, I’m roiling and thinking, “He just doesn’t get me. We’re not on the same page. Why am I so misunderstood? Is it too early for a steak dinner?”
And I’m DRENCHED in being wronged. And being sad. And missing my mom. And wanting a steak.
I knew it was going to be bad. Because when I get like this, I don’t let go. And I don’t even want to write this, because the Rock reads this and will now say “I told you so!” and then “It’s OK, honey.” Which will make me cry. Unless I’m not PMSing anymore. Which I am.
So we sat in the car and argued. Until he said something along the lines of I keep score and I did it with my mom and then I said, “Don’t throw my blog in my face!” And “You don’t know my mom!” and other stuff such as for example, “You don’t support me!” and then he drove us home.
At that point, the evening is ruined, so I sit in the car and cry, great rocking sobs of being persecuted and alienated.
I decide to sleep in the car and slump on the center console over which I lay my sticky purple yoga mat to cushion the points. Three minutes later, I walk into the house.
The Rock is splayed face down on the guest bed and I leave him there.
I walk upstairs and cry more in the bathroom, until I hear a feeble knock on the door. The Rock opens it and says, “How can I make you feel better?”
So then, of course, that’s the straw. And I heave more sobs and think, “I’d never do that. He’s the hero in this relationship. He always reaches out to me, and says sorry even when he shouldn’t have to, and I’m horrible and awful and no good, just no good. No wonder everyone hates me.”
After I say more crap because I can’t gracefully accept love when it’s offered, we snuggle on the couch while he falls asleep and I watch 48 Hours Mystery.
And the storm passed, for now. But that’s exactly how it is: a cyclone, a hurling frenzy of debris and wind and rain moving in to destroy a town. It whirls, it twirls, it’s unpredictable and dangerous. It’s Mother Nature. But that doesn’t make it OK.
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{{P.S. Did I post this once already? And stop sadly shaking your collective heads at me! I don’t need your pity!
Oh OK, hand it over.}}
This just makes me wish you lived across the street.
Ahhhh Deb…your writing is great, even when you’re PMS-y. I won’t be PMS-y for awhile, since I’m all pregnant-y and stuff, but I wonder if that’s worse in another way – cuz isn’t pregnancy just 9 months of PMS? ;) My littlest one started runny nose and coughing tonight, and I found myself in a very overwhelmed spot because we’re trying to go out of town this weekend, and I need to get my car checked out before we go, and stuff to buy, and pack, and work, and blog, and be a good friend (whine whine whine)…and as I was laying next to my coughing baby and actually prayed “Lord, I don’t have time for this crap, can you please take her cough away.” “Ok, I’ll take that as a no – but seriously, I’m tired, really tired, and the last thing I need is her up coughing all night.” I stay quiet for a second and then say “Did I really just pray that? I mean, how petty is it that I just prayed for my daughter’s annoying little cough to go away because I’m tired? There are people out there battling cancer and diseases that are ravishing their bodies and I’m being selfish about a damn cough. Thank you for putting up with me, and that we are all in good health otherwise, and that you are patient with me as I grow.” And then…my little dear drifted off to a peaceful, cough-free sleep – not saying it always happens like that, but tonight it did. Not sure what relevence this has at all to your feelings – guess just that I’m emotional too and feeling a tad overwhelmed with all the stuff I have to do. ;)
Oh yeah, and I saw a gal dropping off her kid at my daughter’s daycare yesterday that looks just like you (well the photos I’ve seen of you anyway). I wanted to take her picture and post it on my blog – but I thought that would be a weird conversation. “Excuse me, may I please take your picture so that I can post it on the internet for all to see because you look like a gal from San Diego whose blog I read?” I think she’d be disenrolling her child from our daycare post haste.
I love it when Tom knocks on the door and says, “What can I do to make you feel better?”
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‘Til we meet again.
I believe my husband may be DRENCHED in feeling wronged right this minute. I believe I can safely blame it on PMSing teenager, though.
Keep your chin up.
“a cloud of free range despair”
“grazing desolation”
Love that…You slay me…So, so good.
I don’t think that’s pity you’re seeing in those head shakes. It’s recognition.
that was incredibly and frightening at the same time. I’ve been lost in that sea of despair and anger. It’s tough to grab a lifeline thrown by someone. Thank GOD they keep throwing it OVER AND OVER.
gotta love the rock. and you.
And, i LOVE me some Kathy Griffin. LOVE HER.
Oh that line: “drenched in being wronged.” I love it so much.
PMS is an evil power–it takes me over for a day or so every month and I am miserable too. Just like you.
Hope you’re feeling better soon.
Being a woman is terrible work. Take your time to blank out, process and whatever else you need. Take care of yourself. I’m the same way, when I get into the blues and mean reds. I don’t write. It just muddles and replays in my head over and over again. It may never get easier but from the sounds of it you’re very aware and that can be so helpful. Rest, relax and forget the wide world web. Take care of your world first.
O momma. I think I just found my soulsister.
I think we may be kindred spirits.
I’ll say what other say to me when I feel this way — Be nice to your self, give yourself a little grace and take a good long nap (after your steak dinner).
Enjoy your respite. Looking forward to reading more when you plug back in.
(I am currently unplugged myself, by the way).
Cheers!
Ah, yes, I remember PMS. I wonder when I get to feel that again… Hopefully no time soon. I also remember, that when I had PMS, it was never PMS until a few days later… Denial worked so well!
Holy moley! Sorry I’ve been away so long. There must be a nationwide flood of despair happening, ’cause I had it too. I’ve just decided to adopt the mantra “this, too shall pass”. It seems to be working at the moment. Say it a hundred times, and I’m pretty sure you’ll feel better afterward.
Beyond our obsessions with Indigo Girls and poo, and all our other quirky similarities, it seems our connection runs faaaaar deeper. My roller coaster of emotions, nights of intermittent sobs (peppered with laughs), self-effacing inner monologues, and periods of over-all cloudy sadness sounds a lot like what you’ve described. We’ll have to add “compare PMS stories” to our long list of martini talk.
And I see my girl Laura Lee posted earlier that she can relate too–that’s why she and I are so close as well.
Here are my tips:
1) NARS lipgloss–it’s buttery goodness.
2) Deborah’s Skirts on Fire Steak salad at C LEVEL Lounge, accompanied by a fancy martini or La Crema Chardonnay (and the Lobster Bisque if you’re really serious)
3) A classic sentimental comedy like Goodbye Girl or Jerry McGuire so your laugh/cry outbursts won’t seem so out of place.
I’m feeling ya sister.
I hope you know, really-really know, that you are not alone. Sometimes I wish I was 2 again, so I could throw myself down, scream and cry, then be sent to time out. I wish it was just as “acceptable” for an adult…….sigh
When and how did our “chemicals” get so jacked up? The Rock is awesome, you are blessed!
First, go watch some Whose Line Is It Anyway (take the cue from your last post title) and laugh until you cry. Cry until you laugh again. That’s what I’ve been doing the last few days. Except I hide it in the shower. I desperately want a shoulder for to cry on. I want big strong arms to wrap around me and tell me it’ll be okay even if it won’t be. I just want to feel safe and loved and be able to cry when it hits me.
If we don’t find me a husband soon, can I borrow The Rock for crying jags?
Yes to everything you just said, current & previous.
And it all makes me feel worse that I can’t find a copy of the cocktail recipes. I’m imagining they would do you good right about now…
xo
All I can say is: thank goodness someone speaks the truth. This is what real life is like. It’s not a butterflies and daisies. You make me feel better by sharing. So thanks for that.
Two Kathy G. notes:
1. after watching the episode where she signs up for Facebook, I tried to find her and friend her but failed…there were three Kathy Griffins and none of them seemed to be her?
2. If you’re feeling weepy, don’t watch last night’s episode which was Kathy doing a ‘bucket list’ with her mom which is actually kinda touching and sad even though it was also very funny. As my own Mom is 82 and living with me, it struck really close to home.