I woke up this morning happy. Even the blaring of “Piano Riff” on my alarm clock didn’t shake that. Usually getting up at 5 to be at work at 6 puts a cramp in my day. But not today. It was chilly in our bedroom so the warm water of the shower engulfed me. Today was going to be a good day. I just knew it.
Leaving the house that early is easy. Everyone is asleep. I didn’t have to hear any “mom, get me this” “mom, can I do this?” The sound of quiet was making my morning that much better.
When I got in my car I realized that I was low on gas. Very low. I’m still not sure how that happened considering yesterday I had 1/4 of a tank left. Still that was not going to ruin my day. I managed to make it to the gas station with a smile on my face. Then I splurged. McDonalds large sweet tea was calling my name. I went through the drive thru and headed to work.
I entered my office happy and chatting with a co-worker about yet another day at the animal hospital. Happy. It was the last time of the day that I would have a nice conversation without getting yelled at. It was 6:00am.
Then, things changed. It became clear to me that even though I planned to have a good day, everyone I would encounter felt differently. This is what I learned. If you over sleep and miss an appointment. It is my fault. If your pet is sick and I can not diagnose it over the phone, I am useless. When it comes to your pets, Dr. Internet knows more than me. If I interrupt you by calling at the wrong time, I am a jerk and I deserve your wrath. If a car cuts in front of me and causes me to slam on my brakes, I need to be pulled over. If my drink is flat, It’s probably something wrong with my taste buds.
I consider myself lucky. I have an adoring husband and 3 beautiful daughters. But today, I considered going to a psychiatrist. I havent been to one since I was a lot younger. I havent needed to. I have a stong marriage, and although we have our differences we always work through them. So there has never been a need there. I have Tourette’s syndrome. It’s a struggle but I’ve always worked through it. But now, I need to know. What is it about me that makes me a punching bag? Is it written across my forehead? Is it written on my back?
What is it about me?