I assumed if I maimed myself that they would send me home from work. I really needed to be home under the covers with my emergency Xanax under my tongue. Worst case scenario they would place me on a three day psych hold and I would get three whole days of “meds and beds” as I like to call it.
I was not being selfish. My surrender was purely for the sake of all the other people in my path. The only answer was to retreat to 800 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and some pharmaceutical intervention. No deep breathing was going to calm the storm.
What causes these days to go so crazy? Is it hormonal? Is it karma? Is it the cycle of the moon? What ever it is I was white knuckling it from the time the alarm went off. It’s a little unnerving to feel rage before you even open your eyes.
From the moment I woke up I was irritated. Do you know the feeling?
Every time someone smacks gum you dream of smothering them with a pillow. Every inconvenience is amplified and every setback no matter how minor makes you feel like the world is crashing down around you. You are on a crazy spiral toward what you hope won’t end with your mug shot on CNN and all you can do is hold on until it comes to a screeching halt.
When these days happen I have my very own three-step program. First step is my best friend Tara. I explain to her how the world has gone mad and she listens. Her silence while I rant and periodic validation eases my stress level. When I have reached the lower level of hysteria she explains to me how the whole world is crazy except for us. I knew there was a reason I loved her. If you find someone that validates your crazy, hold onto them!
For the second step I call in the serious guns. Brad is my betrothed and my bootlegger. You can only buy what I need in certain stores so I ask him to “score me some” on his way home. He has the Sweet Bliss wine chilled and ready to pour as he hears the garage door open. While he is a wonderful guy this maneuver is as much about self-preservation as it is a loving gesture. I don’t have days like this very often but when I do he has the drill down to fine art. With eyes diverted he hands me the wine glass and walks away. The time for talking is over.
As I take my first sip of wine I am even annoyed that it’s in a stem less wine glass. Isn’t a stem less wine glass just a glass? Now that stems are out of style what am I supposed to do with my 30 shamefully stemmed glasses?
Apparently it is time to take a few large drinks before I begin typing a strongly worded letter the Waterford Crystal Company.
With one large stem less glass down I begin the third and final step toward sanity. I unsnap my bra.
Taking off your bra should be on the label of every anxiety medication prescribed. This simple act alone says, “I’m home in safe place where my breasts no longer need to be perky and restricted by elastic and wires.”
Between the Sweet Bliss and the freedom from Lycra I am almost calm.
My final step toward sanity is my fiancée’s large Harley t-shirt. Nothing says, “It’s all going to be all right” like taking off your bra at the end of the day and slipping into a cotton tee. Who can do harm to others when you are braless surrounded by cotton?
My three-step program works for me mainly because it doesn’t involve me apologizing to anyone and twelve steps is too many especially when you can’t drink while you work thru them.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to give up, take off my bra and guzzle red wine when I no longer care about the difference.
I end the day buzzed, braless and bathed in cotton.