Losing control

I reread yesterday's post about my bad day, and I realize that what I described might not seem like such an ordeal to others. However, I merely scratched the surface of everything that went wrong; the missing DVD was the kindling that set fire to a rage that's been simmering within me for quite some time. It put me over the edge.

Lately I've felt like I'm spinning out of control. I don't know if it's my age or the fact that mothering is a tough job or the inadequacy I feel over not being able to work harder toward my writing goals... Whatever it is, it's making me feel helpless, and some days, when there are so many things hitting me at once, vying for my attention, worrying me, nagging me, making me feel less than human, less than sane, I just want to lie down and sleep and forget about it all. I want all those feelings to go away until I feel like I'm in control of my life again, like I'm the main character. Like I'm Dana.

I haven't felt like Dana in a long time.

That missing DVD...it enraged me. I was angry that the kids had misplaced it. It was just one more thing--a little thing, certainly--but it was the proverbial last straw, one more thing that was trying to gain control over my life, and I couldn't stand  it. I was so angry--about the DVD and about everything else, all those things I felt were trying to take my life away from me.

Ozzy Osbourne is my favorite singer. I think he's a remarkable songwriter whose lyrics are truly thought-provoking. In Ghost Behind My Eyes, Ozzy sings: "I hate that feeling when I'm losing control." That's how I feel now, how I've felt for months. I'm losing control--maybe losing my mind--and I hate it.

Dana's Very Bad Day

It started off nicely enough.

I'd had my coffee; the kids weren't fighting. Everything was...well, cool.

Then the library's Max and Ruby DVD went missing, and all hell broke loose. The three of us searched high; we searched low. We searched what we'd already searched, then searched it all again.

The DVD was gone, AWOL, missing in action, and we feared we would never see it again. The kids were sad. I was sad too; I didn't want to pay a fine.

As the search went on, the kids grew bored and restless. I grew angry. I ranted and raved. "Why can't you remember to put things back where they belong?" I shouted.

After hours of searching, we were overcome by exhaustion. The littlest one took a nap. The bigger one played. I, the old and cranky one, made dinner and stewed.

Our soup tasted of rage. Daddy returned from work and heard the story. He vowed to continue the search. I vowed to continue to rant. The kids ate...remarkably.

After dinner (no dessert), I did the dishes, then went through the trash, still searching, still fuming. Nothing. I sat at the table, racked my brain, was at a loss.

Then...joy! The bigger one raced into the room, DVD in hand--and peace reigned once again.

**Ihis is the greatly sanitized version; our day was much, much worse. We're hoping for a better one tomorrow.