One of the very smart woman bloggers I read said recently that it’s humiliating to be held emotionally hostage by your hormones. I loved the line so much I’m ripping it off and I can’t even remember which of the very smart woman bloggers said it. If my memory or my mood were better I would provide proper attribution.
I started crying tonight while watching the Amazing Race finale and eating turkey meatloaf. This was not how I was supposed to spend my mother’s day, which started out kind of rocky now that I think about it. Maybe I just woke up on the sad side of the bed. I was supposed to spend my mother’s day with my friends and family but events were canceled due to the Tibble flu claiming more victims.
So I started crying tonight watching the Amazing Race and that was about 2 hours ago. I haven’t stopped since. I’m an emotional wreck and I’m totally going to blame it on hormones rather than a crappy state of affairs. It’s way easier to blame unhappiness on a monthly emotional quirk than on actual situations you can deal with.
Don’t you agree?
I’m glad we agree on that. I’m sure we can also agree that things would totally be better if I only had that one episode of Dawson’s Creek where Dawson’s dad dies. Because that’s the kind of emotional bawl baby release that would probably do me good.
Or maybe just the writing about it is doing me good. This blog sure has been lacking in self-indulgent emotional breakdowns of any kind lately. And I for one have missed them. I’m not going to lie, since I got a gig blogging where my personal blog is common company knowledge, I’ve been the self-censoring queen of the Internet. That is, as I like to say, the suck.
I’m having a rough go of the work/life blogging balance (which is nothing at all like the work/life balance which I have no problem with).
It’s weird because last week a few of my co-workers told me I need to be bitchier, or more like me on the work blog, something I’ve been horribly frightened of doing for fear of doing it wrong. And in not being me, all my writing everywhere has become sort of boring and neutered.
But I am done with being afraid. Fear sucks. I figure if my voice doesn’t fit the work blog and that direction doesn’t go over well, then so be it. Right? RIGHT?
Wow. It’s amazing the things you dredge up when you just free write about being a whiny baby. And I didn’t even say anything about the heartbreaking conversation with my mom and how I told her I still don’t know what to do with all the anger I have for my dad.
One issue at a time I suppose.
P.S. Someday when I am a wealthy independent contractor I am going to hire a hot, smart intern to go through all 7,063 posts and provide proper categorization and tagging.
As someone who has lost both parents and my eldest brother, I can tell you that when they’re gone the anger, the frustrations; it all seems foolish.
I want one more day with each of them, to hear the words of encouragement, of support, of understanding.
I’m home. No job prospects. Letting someone else pay my way like a damn child on summer break would.
And I have no one to really confide in.
Talk. Speak. Let it go.
the people who hired you knew about your blog, yes? in fact, it’s probably one of the reasons you got the job?
and you already had those thousands of posts up (that weren’t censored) for coworkers to find anyway, so you may as well keep doing what you were doing – it worked for you, for us and your employer.
Hostage to my hormones! Exactly. Lately, I’m swinging wildly between stabby and horny. No middle ground. I blame pre-menopause, because I have to blame something.