When I’m mad, I clean!
When I am really, really mad, I clean. I clean more than usual! Things that don’t need cleaning because they are already clean!
When I am really well and truly pissed off, I clean. I strip things that don’t need stripping, I clean like a mad woman.
We have just come through a three day weekend, Monday being a Public Holiday as it was Eid. I was mad for three days. My apartment is spotless.
The truth is that I have been mad and unsettled for a while. With one thing and another, the last few weeks have been somewhat fraught. I haven’t divulged much to anyone and that is how it will stay because things will improve, I will get over the drama and with God’s grace live to tell the tale.
Apparently I am very good at listening, giving advice and making the right soothing noises when necessary. My daughter does not know how both she and I can stand in a supermarket line (not together) and before we reach the check out, have heard the life story of the person standing behind us! In my case it could be that I am coming from a training day and have forgotten to take off my badge which gives my name and my organization. I suppose some people gravitate towards people wearing a tell tale sign of anything remotely religious although it happens when I am sans badge as well. I don’t know what my daughter’s excuse is. Maybe it’s because she’s stunning and people (especially men!) gravitate towards her and spill the beans thinking that if they give her a sob story, she’ll feel sorry for them and end up on a date. Fat chance!
I digress.
I am mad. I am upset. I am bordering on the edge. If I were to tell all my woes some of the responses I would get from friends would be much the same as those I’d give them were they in my shoes. That doesn’t mean to say that when I sympathize I do it lightly. I don’t. I mean everything I say as I am sure anyone giving me advice in this time of stress, would. We all go through difficult times. Difficult times however, in most cases, don’t last forever. To make life better for the sufferer we cluck, say the right words at the right times, dry the tears, offer tea and sympathy, wine and sympathy, tell them they need ‘me’ time and even sometimes, say something that the injured party does not want to hear.
Presently I am tired, overwhelmed and I’m beginning to feel bolshie. I want answers now.
I don’t want to hear that things will eventually get better, that I have no need to worry over my husband’s health (deal with the problem – you’re the doctor!), that I don’t need to worry because it seems my husband is having difficulty dealing with the diagnosis, that the specialist cannot see him for another three weeks, that my children will be fine, that the family business is suffering dreadfully as a result of this so called global financial crisis, that God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, offer it up, put it in God’s hands, that if you are patient it will be better in a few weeks, that the air conditioning engineer cannot come until Tuesday afternoon and we may have to replace the condenser unit, that we are bathing in 100 plus degrees with no breeze, that the washing machine isn’t, that there are people out there far worse off than I am, that we have been through far worse and survived to see another day blah...blah.......blah.............
Most of all I definitely do not want to hear that when life deals you lemons, make lemonade.
Pass me a bunch of grapes.
Without wishing to sound ungrateful thank you very much, I don’t want lemonade!
I want champagne!
