About this time every year, I totally lose track of everything – and I do mean everything. I forget the day, the date, what I purchased for everyone, where I hid the stocking stuffers, what I’ve committed to bringing to the potluck dinner, and the list goes on and on. At this juncture, the meticulous lists I make to keep myself organized have long since been forgotten. If I am with it and taking meds for my ADHD they too have been forgotten. Quite simply, I’m hanging on to the knot at the end of the rope with my fingernails. The funny thing is any other time this type of chaos would usually put me into a panic attack of epic proportions but not this year.
I’d like to say the reason for this new found zen is some sort of meditation, yoga or pills but it’s not. I wouldn’t even say that my give a damn is busted. When it comes right down to it, I guess I just don’t care. Before you ask, no I am not depressed even though with each passing year I feel more and more like Charlie Brown. I think this feeling of zen is more a feeling that the stress doesn’t matter. It’s a feeling of there is nothing going on in my world that demands I worry about it that much. Life will work itself out. It could also be that things seem to be going halfway right. Ironically, that right there is what bothers me the most. I know when the universe gives you the gift of zen it’s about to hit you right in the face with a big ole shit sandwich. That’s just the way life works.
Despite my zen, there is plenty of things to be annoyed about. For example, why does my youngest still want me to move that damn elf around even though I have a house of nonbelievers? Why are so many people talking about how 30+ year old cartoons and songs are suddenly offensive yet homelessness and families without the ability to have a traditional holiday celebration are barely on those same people’s radar. And, why for the love of God aren’t people behaving themselves at school concerts. You are not here to see Metalica. Stop whooping and hollering like you are at a rock concert or rodeo. No one needs to hear screams followed by, “WOOO HOOO GREAT JOB POOKIE.” Pookie may have done a great job but all those other kids parents and family want to watch their kid in peace. Holler at your own house, not at the school auditorium. Damn people were you raised by wolves?