A Day in the Life of Crazy

I got up yesterday at 6 am.  Charles was in bed with us – I think I already explained how he hit me first thing in the morning, ostensibly over my wardrobe choices (specifically over my choice to get dressed at all), Jamie was sleeping, so was Tony, and I had a meeting to get to at 7.  Work for several hours, I left early to get gas and groceries before my dentist appointment, which was the only time all day that I relaxed for even a few minutes, in that blissful dentist’s chair.

 

I’ve had so much stress in my life lately that I snapped my night guard in half and had to get it replaced (which is expensive).  On Friday.  Which meant that I went the whole weekend clenching my jaw in my sleep with enough force to snap super tough plastic designed to withstand the pressure of the body’s strongest muscles in half.

 

We’re having a major supplier problem at work, which trickles down to just about every customer we have.  Add that to all the normal stresses of running a business, plus my personal stress of not being able to devote enough time to it or my family or anything else in my life, worries about finances and frustration over stupid decisions made in the past (this house that we’ll be stuck in FOREVER), and you have a jaw-clenching spiral of anxiety.

 

After I got myself a new night guard (hopefully it’s reinforced for super wear), I proceeded to mangle a salmon I had intended to prepare for a party last night – the head was still on, and the backbone was in and, basically, I’m an idiot.  No one should allow me around fish with a knife.  But no one else was available to help and I destroyed the damned thing beyond recognition so instead of having a healthy protein to take to the party, I made super unhealthy chicken (with mayonnaise.  And cheese).

 

The party was for our Baby Boot Camp instructor, a wonderful woman who has been my friend for several years.  We’re currently doing a 3-month challenge in Baby Boot Camp to be more fit, healthier, make better food choices (so the bad-for-you chicken was a terrible choice), etc, and I’m now reminded why I didn’t do it last year.

 

The whole thing makes me feel like a goddamn failure.

 

Every week there is an email with videos to watch (they’re short and I never get to them), food/eating changes to make, and a daily workout.  I rarely complete any of them, but I’m pretty sure I’m the only one.  Every other member of the group posts that she’s done the workout on the FB site, or that she’s lost so many pounds this week, or that she changed her diet to include kale or some such garbage this week.  Me?  I wear heels to work, so I’m unlikely to get down on the dusty floor of my warehouse and do a one-minute plank every hour or 25 jumping jacks every hour.  I get up at the crack of dawn and go-go-go all day long, so I’m unlikely to find time between work, groceries, meetings, dishes, dinner prep, swim lessons, and anything else that comes up to do a daily workout or a morning plank routine or hip bridges or anything else.  Hell, I write this blog in 30-second snippets in between work tasks.

 

And it’s not that I don’t WANT to do these fitness things; I would love to be stronger and more fit.  I don’t have time to give my children and dog, let alone my husband, the attention they deserve.  How can I add another workout to my list? 

 

And then there’s the pressure of knowing I’ll be doing Ragnar this summer.  When will I find the time to run?

 

So after I mangled the fish and set some chicken out to thaw, I picked up the boys from preschool, carted them home, and snuggled them while I read books.  We then frantically beat feet to swim lessons (snuggling and reading frequently make us late for other obligations) where I chased Jamie around while Charles worked on side-breathing.  Then we ran home, grabbed the chicken from the oven, and went to the party.  Where Charles threw a fit when it was time to go home.  None of the other kids did, but you know, F*&#ing Fours.

 

The kids were in bed by 9ish, Tony was reading me depressing articles from the internet, and I was trying to lull myself to sleep with a trash novel by 10:30.  I feel guilty about the time I spend reading at night, but truthfully, I just don’t have the mental or physical energy to do anything else and I need the escape so badly.  I am in awe of these people who have clean houses, who do workouts at night, who meal-plan or cook for the week in one fell swoop.

 

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I’m overwhelmed, you guys.  And when I’m overwhelmed, I look in the mirror and all I see is failure.  I look around at my friends and all I see are people who dress better, look better, have better-behaved children, cook better, clean better, and who clearly are not as stressed as I am.  It’s a stupid downward spiral of self-loathing and feelings of worthlessness.  The guilt at any little indulgence I allow myself, be it chocolate or reading at night, is near-crippling.  I know that I will survive and make it to tomorrow, and I certainly don’t want to give up anyone or anything that I have, but I just don’t know how to do anything well anymore.  I just don’t know how to feel pretty or successful or good about myself.  It is so hard to like myself, let alone love myself.

 

When you do your best, and it’s not enough, what then?  My expectations really aren’t that high to begin with…