Every once in a while I sweat the small stuff, even though I’ve read most of the books about NOT sweating the small stuff. It’s easier said than done. I’m kinda wired that way. Depression and anxiety run in my family, and I’ve received my share along with everyone else.
It’s the little things that can make me crazy. Inconsequential inconveniences that make me want to pull my hair out. I hope that means if something really horrible happened, I’d rise to the challenge and be as steady as a rock.
The week began with a software glitch on my computer. I couldn’t get my Adobe Flash Player to work. I was a hot mess by the time I figured it out.
The next day was better, because I stayed home and didn’t go anywhere. The following day I had to go out, to buy food. Occasionally we need to eat.
Driving to the store, I ended up behind the finalist for The World’s Slowest Driver contest. Grinding my teeth, I arrived in one piece. Hurray. But the grocery store was packed. Serves me right for picking late afternoon to shop. I only had about 15 items on my list. Five of those items were sold out. Empty shelves. So I enter the checkout line. I pick the slowest one, of course. New cashier, old wino moving in slow motion. I grab a People magazine and manage to read an entire article while waiting. Apparently, Jessica Simpson is fat. If SHE’S fat, what does that say about the rest of us?
Arrive at WalMart. Manage to walk by the candy aisle without grabbing the Turtles. Get my prescription and the stuff I couldn’t find at the grocery store.
Various other errands. End up at Domino’s Pizza. Teenager in Training takes my order. He overcharges me. I point out his error (nicely). No apology. He doesn’t even make eye contact. He’s too focused on the cash register in front of him.
My cell phone rings. Probably my daughter, wondering where the hell I am, and what’s taking so long to run a few errands. I answer my phone, but it beeps at me, announcing it needs to be recharged.
Like I said, small stuff. I feel guilty. Other people have to face far more serious challenges in their day, I have no right to complain.
I yammer about taking Yoga classes. It’s time to stop yammering, and start doing. There’s a place near my house, Mountain Goat Yoga. It doesn’t sound relaxing. When I picture mountain goats, I picture the male ones, with those curly horns, ramming each other into the rocks. Obviously there must be other mountain goats, calm and serene ones who sit around in the Lotus position, smiling and chanting.
That’s the kind of mountain goat I aspire to be.
What about you? What small things drive you crazy enough to wanna crawl back to bed?