Since nothing says bat shit crazy as much as admitting epic conversations with yourself, not to mention that my bosses happen to be on my Facebook and I’d rather they not question my sanity, I’ll pretend that this is normal behavior. I’m worse in my car than any other place. I am going to blame this mad-hatterness on an overactive imagination due to writing, but the reality is this. I talk to myself. All the time. Did I mention its worse in the car? I think better out loud apparently.
So this week my insecurities are all over the map. I need constant reassurances in almost every aspect of life because of all the changes. I broke up with my boyfriend, didn’t get a position I wanted at work, then because I didn’t get that position, I got a new boss. My daughter left the nest, and my other daughter is spending her summer vacation away from me. This is a fair amount of crazy train change for someone who needs balance and routine.
Yesterday, I wanted to think about anything else other than my day at work during the drive home. It was a rough day, I wore shoes that gave my blisters, an agent that I thought disliked me went out her way to thank me for being her ‘boss’. I moved to a new desk in the back of the room that didn’t have drawers. I was too short to write #1 on my own board. All of these are microscopic problems in the grand scheme of life, but for me, change sucks.
So there I am, in my car, on the way home, having the most entertaining conversation, with myself. I told the imaginary recipients of my ire what I thought of their shenanigans. I was smart! I was witty! Dare I say even sarcastic? Well, Okay, maybe not sarcastic. Even in my imaginary conversations, sarcasm eludes me. Why am I admitting this, you ask me? Because I’m bored, and have coffee, that is why.
All this because what I really didn’t want to think about was the little part of me who takes everything as a rejection, to heart. Silence, perceived lack of interest, or being left with the feeling of too busy makes me neurotic. Mind you, a majority of this is in my head, which makes me the epic basket case you see before you.
Or it makes me… me.