I’ve decided I am not watching this week’s episode of The Walking Dead. There are just some images I’d rather not have burned into my imagination forever, and from what I’ve read, this week’s episode has several. I couldn’t watch the episode the night it aired, and knew the internet would be spoilery the next day, so I read a few synopses of it. And…I’m good.
In the interest of full disclosure, I usually “watch” TWD while doing something else. I listen to it, in other words. And occasionally look up. But I cannot just sit and watch it, because it is gross and I am squeamish. This week, however, it sounds like they went above and beyond, and I don’t even want to hear it. Nor is this the first time I spoiled a cliffhanger for myself. When things at the prison went south, I had to stop watching and check to make sure Judith made it before I could continue. If they’d killed the baby, I’d have stopped watching, straight up.
There was a point in time where I, completionist that I am, would have felt compelled to watch. Even knowing that I would be distressed beyond measure by it. But now? Life’s short, and I don’t sleep well as it is. I think I will stick with the show once we get past the point of bashing skulls in. I am not relishing another season of crazy Rick, however.
This sort of thing marks a new direction for me: Making up my mind about how I want to approach something, rather than having the situation guide me. For instance, Friday I was called in for an attendance hearing at Anya’s school. Which I thought was beyond stupid because they know damn good and well why she’s missed so many days. “We just want to know what we can do to help.” Um…let me go home and take care of my kid? Unless you’re volunteering to wipe baby tushies and wash poopy laundry, there’s not much anyone can do to help me right now.
Anyway, I got a little angry on the phone with the (utterly tactless) office assistant, and had some heated discussions with my mother in the days leading up to the meeting. But the morning of the meeting, I made the conscious decision not to walk. Not only would I have been pressed for time afterwards, and therefore stressed out, but my usual walking music kick-starts my fight-or-flight, and that’s not the mindset I wanted to enter this meeting with. So instead I did 45 minutes of yoga and meditation. And still lost my cool during the meeting, but can you imagine what would have happened had I walked?
I won’t give a blow-by-blow of the meeting, because I’ve finally calmed down and don’t feel like getting mad again. But one of the more infuriating points was receiving confirmation of Anya’s report that she is not receiving speech therapy (which is one of the main reasons we sent her to pre-K), and being given a packet of forms (“we’ve been trying to get these to you”) dated the day before the meeting…with an initial date from the speech therapist of October 6. So they have been sitting on these forms for a month, and only dug them out when I asked why the heck she’s not been getting therapy. But why did they wait until October when she was tested (and deemed in need of therapy) back in June?
We’ll see where things go now that I’ve filled out their stupid forms. I’m sure there will be further rants on the topic, so for now I will move on. Because there’s more!
Not half an hour before the meeting, Anya’s doctor called. The C. difficile has returned. Another prescription was called in, and they recommended a different probiotic. It took 24 hours (and some nudging from me) to get the insurance to pay for the medication (which would have cost over $900 for 10 days’ worth of medicine without insurance). I also had to drive to another state for the first bottle, because no local pharmacies had it in stock. So there was plenty of agonizing going around.
Okay, I had a full-on meltdown Friday night/Saturday morning. Sobbing and snotting all over the place.
I can’t say I’ve stopped agonizing, either, but I’ve done my best to put a pin in it when the kids are around. It’s not their fault that I’m tense, nor is there anything they can do about it. And I’d like them to think back on me fondly when they are grown. Which they most certainly will not if I continue to let all this stress hang out.
And the hits keep coming. Today’s fun included a forgotten — and leaky! — sippy cup full of chocolate milk that ruined a bag of toys and added several items to my already overflowing laundry basket. Spent two hours cleaning that up. Then Angus, our Roomba, dug up a dead mouse from somewhere in the living room. My options were to clean it up myself or leave the house with a crabby Kai and stay gone for about 6 hours, so I just dealt with the thing. I knew something smelled hinky in there — besides the sippy, I mean. That just smelled like strong Parmesan. For added fun, Kai now has diarrhea; if it persists, he will need to be tested for C. difficile. More stool samples. Yay.
My mouth tastes like I’ve been chewing tinfoil bubble gum all day. But I’ve done my best to roll with it and keep a smile on. For the kids, and for me. After a while you just half to laugh. I mean, I couldn’t even make up a weekend like this for fear that it sounded over the top.
At least it’s not looking like this will be a crazy busy work week. I would probably explode if it were. So I will take a little time to do stuff I need to do. Enjoy the fall sunshine. Walk. Practice yoga. Meditate. Catch my breath and wait for the next wave.