Q: Who's a mister grumpy gills?

A: me.

I am grumpy. I know this. I accept it, although I am trying hard not to embrace it. I would try to just suppress and get over it, but the last time I did that I let a not-so-nice man do not-so-nice things. So now I am allowing myself to be grumpy and trying things to make it better rather than push it down. Like Rogers & Hammerstein's Cinderella. Or fudge.

I know what the problem is, too, which is almost frustrating in and of itself, since I don't really consider it a good enough reason. Things that I have dealt with for years are now starting to become things that I can no longer handle with the same necessary levels of compassion and patience. I think it comes from being outside of the situation enough to have gained the perspective that normal people don't have to deal with this. Normal people do not continuously let themselves become therapists to their parents. Normal people do not worry that some day their parents might actually divorce, and wonder which someone fears more - the failing of a marriage or the loss of the health insurance. Normal people do not have to repeat the same conversations with someone because they were too intoxicated to remember they spoke to you. Twice.

I realize that this is way more info than anybody reading this expected to get. Don't worry, it probably won't happen again. I do try to keep the personal shit away and stick to musings and thoughts and more friendly feelings about the world. But for now I'm tired of the rosy glasses, and would like people to understand where I'm coming from. I'm not upset at you, I'm just having a very angsty the-world-isn't-fair moment. It will pass. I know it will, because it always does. It did yesterday. Yesterday I had finally had enough of the world and retreated to solitaire (the card game) and music. And eventually I was able to come back down. I walked down the stairs and without words climbed into the lap of someone who I knew wouldn't ask any questions. "Are you OK?" is possibly the worst thing to say in these moments. Of course I'm not OK. If I was, do you think I would have been stressed out enough to need to leave the room? Instead I need exactly what I got, an arm around me and a pillow under my head. A silent reminder that world will eventually right itself. And eventually I came out of my shell, and started to talk again, and was able to laugh, and even touch other people. I'm getting better. I used to be much worse. It used to take much longer, and with much more coaxing. I let more people in now - I'm writing this, aren't I? Tonight, the solution is a hot shower to mentally cleanse, and fudge and Cinderella. With a friend. Not alone. I am driving somewhere to make sure that I am not alone. I really am much better. It just takes time. And patience. And sometimes, like right now, pure will.

I promise next post will be nicer.