When you are stressed out what do you do? If you tell me exercise, I’ll fucking punch your lights out and then you can get an unconscious break from your troubles. So you ask, okay smart ass, so what do you do?
Oh I’m SO GLAD you asked. I’ll bet you’re laying money in Vegas right now that I drink myself silly. Wrong. Well, about 25% of the time anyway.
So here’s the deal… I cook bacon. Three pounds of bacon sizzling in that cast iron skillet makes me be able to deal with Life® again. If I’m really pissed off I just burn the living shit out of that pork meat. That’s my therapy. Costco has three pounds of bacon for $15.99. That sounds like a goddamn therapy bargain to me.
Now you are gonna have the balls to remember that Hubs is a shrink. Let me tell you sistahs and brothas… he is an excellent psychiatrist and helps lots of folks. But I’m his wife. He has a shrink voice, believe it or not, and I know that voice. He has only pulled out the shrink voice to use on me ONCE in almost 28 years. The backlash from me was quite memorable. Never happened again. Anyway, I’m just saying the man is my spouse, not my shrink. It’s his fucking job to AGREE with me and not figure out why I feel bad.
It’s been a crazy month or so for my stress levels. My kids moved off to college and I’m trying to figure out how to parent from afar. I’m used to being there and dispensing hugs when needed or a kick in the ass when necessary. There has been a long-term BF breakup, roommate drama, sad texts and tweets interspersed with happy calls about good learning and excellent test scores. I had lots of care packages to organize and send. I’m trying to figure all this out and not lose my fucking mind in the process. I’m not sure what my role in the Universe is anymore. It’s like being fired from your job after 18 years… just a little weird.
Then there is the whole issue of the instant empty nest. I haven’t cried and wailed and acted generally like an idiot during this entire process. I do worry more, fix less, and generally miss the day-to-day noise and mess of two teenaged girls and all of their friends. It’s quiet when I’m home. Except for that that incredibly annoying bird that will. not. die. That fucker shrieks all morning and if I yell at him, he shrieks louder. Whatever… he’d better be careful or I’ll take him out of that cage and fry his ass too.
My alternative for staying semi-sane when I run out of the damn bacon to fry, is mow the yard and paint shit. Last week I mowed AND painted. It was a banner fucking week. My grass is all like “leave me alone, bitch!”. Tough shit. My mailbox and light poles didn’t complain about getting painted, you sissy grass. This week I’m ordering new door hardware and painting that door too… Oh wait, I can’t order hardware or buy paint because of Congress and their inability to pass a budget! Hubs is on the payroll and he won’t be getting paid if those dumbasses can’t get it together. If the government shuts down maybe I’ll go find Rand Paul’s palatial estate and mow his grass. On the number 1 setting. Then he won’t have any grass to worry about and maybe he will have time to do his damn elected job.
Painting and mowing isn’t very exciting. It fills the time until I figure out the next chapter of my life. Hubs keeps asking me if I want to adopt some Ethiopian kids like my neighbor did when her bio kids grew up. Umm… NO to that. I ain’t Angela Jolie.
I’ll figure out what I’m supposed to do. I sure had no fucking idea when my kids were born and somehow it all worked out. I think I will find something to do that benefits humanity eventually. Maybe I’ll run for the Senate. I sure couldn’t do a worse job than the assholes that are in office now. Or maybe waffle house has an opening for a bacon fry person. Cooking beautiful strips of bacon for the world to enjoy sounds a lot more productive these days than being in congress.
Bob the Shrieker (before)
Bob the Former Shrieker (After)