|age I felt last weekend|
Anyway, I had made plans to go watch the Superbowl. And I was feeling crazy already, after being cooped up in snowy Toledo. You know when you can sort of feel the tears rising in your throat and they make no sense, so you just ignore them because all you want to feel is normal? It was sort of that feeling all day.
We back into the driveway at home, and of course it's slippery. Dad puts the brakes on, and we decide to just haul our stuff in from there. Of course, the first thing to happen is I fall down, dropping my pillow in the snow and landing a bit hard on my right wrist. After righting myself, I proceed to almost fall 3 more times before reaching the top of the driveway. Remember the mounting frustration, and let's continue...
...we unloaded the car slowly, and I got salt all over my pants from bracing myself on the van...
...I'm getting ready to leave and my mother's sincere, good intentions confuse me, and so I become impatient and further frustrated...
...I go to put on my rubber boots and step in melted snow (from me, earlier), thus soaking my warmest socks, and requiring me to go back upstairs, get dry socks, walk in the melted snow with bare feet back to my wet boots, dry my feet and then put on the socks and boots again...
...then I realize I left my coat upstairs...
...after which I can't find the keys I had in my hand when the sock debacle began, and I start rummaging angrily through my giant, bottomless purse...
|site of debacle, bottom right corner|
...so I head out to clean off my car, which means I end up with snow up my sleeve...
...and then...my car won't budge from the curb.
The wheels are spinning. I can smell hot tires. But it the pavement is clear under my car, and all my rationality is slipping away faster and faster. I am pretty sure I growled at this point, and then yanked my keys from the ignition, stomp up the driveway and wrench open the door.
Me: "SO, MY CAR IS STUCK."
Mom and Dad come to the top of the stairs.
Me: "THE WHEELS ARE SPINNING AND IT WON'T MOVE."
Dad: "Keep the wheels strai--"
Me: "I DID THAT DON'T YOU THINK I DID THAT."
Dad: "Natalie, you don't need to get worked up like this."
Me: "I'M SORRY I'M JUST TIRED AND...AND...WAHH AHH AHHH...."
Yup, big, grown-up Natalie starts bawling. I throw my keys on the stairs and had the decency to walk away for the moment. I knew, during the moment, that I was being irrational. But it couldn't be helped. It was inevitable that I was going to cry at some point during the evening, and when my Taurus wouldn't budge, it was the end.
Luckily, my saintly mother (recognizing something in me, perhaps?), followed me out the door. She salted under my tires, and gave me a push, and I pulled out. On my way to get gas (oh, yeah, my gas light was on, which always gets me a little panicky), I kept up this awful, gulping sob noise. It was bizarre. Honestly, looking back, it's obvious that I was overstressed from the funeral, the tight quarters, and feeling a little helpless all weekend. And of course, it ended up being a nice evening, and I returned to normal fairly quickly.
Anyone else get that rising-tears-crazy feeling from time to time? Isn't it the worst? Hopefully the story I tell next Tuesday doesn't involve anymore tears!
|acting normal again|