I just hate that.
It makes it difficult to listen to other people and assess their needs, wants, desires. I suppose it's because right now, it's all about me.
Yeah, cause I'm all THAT and more. Snicker.
I knew this week would be bad, but I hadn't expected the true level of anticipation. I was unprepared.
However, the house is sparkling clean, save the oven where the meatballs EXPLODED in a roar of grease and flames.
Seriously. Real, live flames....
And lots of smoke.
Which reminded everyone in the household about the time I "hid" candles in the oven. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.
Anyway, I just want to...punch something...or sleep...or eat something. Yeah, that whole "eating" thing, sooo trying to keep that monster at bay. I've hit the forty pounds gone mark and I don't want to add any back. I'm proud of myself and the fact that I now weigh what I've lied about for all these years on my drivers license. Kudos to me.
But I'm anxious.
I've only got another day at work, which is great because the handful of girls that I've told about my upcoming adventure are just about to make my cry. One of them brought me a gift for my recovery. Another brought me a card. A third just stood there blinking at me and hugged me tight.
It's not cancer people, I promise! At least we are pretty dang certain it's not cancer. 99.8% sure. No cancer.
It's all good.
Except that I keep thinking about my mother and how if I were to die I wouldn't get the last word.
GAH! I have to have the last word! I want to tell her so many not so nice things. Isn't that dreadful? I told Beloved how I've been mulling over the litany of complaints against that woman who gave birth to me and he said, "Let it go."
And he's right.
But I still want to have the last word, because I am small and petty that way. And then I wonder if she'd even be sad that I was dead. And THEN I realized that our entire past would still be my fault and she'd be able to lie about everything without my being here....OH MY WORD!
See? It's soo bad. Must.Let.It.Go.
Of course there are other things to consider. Worrying about Girl getting to school on time. Worrying about Beloved eating good, healthy meals and having clean jeans for work. Worrying about being back to my old self by the time Boy arrives home from India.
And it's stupid.
But, I don't want to talk about it.
Except in my head, where it's all about me anyway.