The Land of Irritation or Depleted or Something Else

You bug me.  Yes, you.  Whoever you are.  If you're reading this, you bug me.  And so does everyone who's not reading this.

Right now almost everyone and everything irritates me.  A lot.  And I don't know why.

I'm severely limiting my social interactions, digitally and in real life.  Because I can't keep up the facade.

I can't pretend the things you're saying or doing or wearing or eating aren't making me crazy.  It takes so much energy to be polite and smile when I really just want to go off on a diatribe about how ridiculous I find you.

I absolutely know how self-centered this sounds (because it is).  I understand how un-Christlike this sounds (because it is).  I get it.  And in my heart of hearts I don't feel this way.

But in my nerves I do.  I don't want to.  I'm working on it.  But right now I do.

And my isolation is for both of us.

I'm certain my facade will eventually break down when we're together, and I'll tell you how whiny I think you are.  I'll tell you to quit complaining and either do something about it or just shut up.  Which will hurt you.

Which will hurt me.  Because I will feel your hurt and carry the weight of that in my heart and on my back.  And I just don't have that strength right now.

I think part of the reason everyone and everything is bothering me is because I feel like it's my job to fix all the problems.  All of them.  All of them in the world.

I know it's not.  In my head.  But in my heart I feel differently.  Accountable.  Responsible.  At fault.

And I want the world perfect.  I want the world to be the way I want it.  That includes the people and their behavior.  And if I'm accountable, at fault, then it's my job to fix it.

But it isn't.  And people get very irritated when I try.  (As well they should.)

So I'm just going to pull back and give myself some space to get through this.  It's kind of like taking my ball and going home because you won't play what I want to play, only a bit more mature (I hope).  You can keep the ball.  I'm just going home.

Shopping in My Pajamas

As I hop from blog to blog, I frequently run into people whose lives are completely different from mine.  People who value different things and focus their energies in other areas.  For the most part, I enjoy this.  I like learning about other people and seeing a way of life that differs from mine. 

But every now and then I run across someone who irritates me.  Not because she is different, but because she is superior, snotty, and judgmental of those who are different from her.  In her world, she is right and anyone who sees things in any other way is wrong and stupid and doesn't deserve the good things in life.

This happened recently.  Through a blogging community, I found myself at the blog of a woman with whom I am fairly certain I have almost nothing in common.  We are both women.  We both live on the planet earth.  I'm guessing we both breathe oxygen.  I'm pretty sure that's where our similarities end.

She is single, lives in London, and focuses much of her attention on fashion.  And I offend her.

I know I offend her because she said so.  In the post that bugged me she said that anyone who shops in their pajamas offends her.  She said that I had no business in the grocery store in my pajamas.  That there is no excuse, no matter how tired or lazy I am.  She said shopping in my pajamas is a statement about my low self-esteem.  She then proceeded to tell me the proper way to go to the grocery store.  The GROCERY store!  Seriously?

I understand that this post was meant to be comedic.  She was going for snarky/funny.  And from the comments on her blog it looks like her audience liked it.

I found it ridiculous.

If we are going to ban people from coming to the grocery store dressed offensively then I have a few things to add:  ultra-short shorts (the kind that barely cover their cheeks); wife-beater shirts; intense cleavage; and any clothing that is so tight or revealing as to be inappropriate for public viewing (since I am making the rules, I get to decide what is inappropriate).

From now on we will all shop in uniforms.  All pants/skirts must reach the knee.  All necklines must reach the collar bone all the way around.  Your clothes must be loose enough that you can easily put them on even when you are wet.  And I want them to all be olive green.  That way, people won't clash as they walk past each other -- because that offends me.

What an incredibly lucky young woman the author of said post is.  Her life must be flowing along smoothly and without any major problems if she has time and energy to worry about this.  She must be generally healthy and have plenty of money.  And thank heavens she decided to make sure we know what is and is not appropriate to wear to the grocery store.

I guess she has never run to the store in a hurry to try to get there before it closed because her child came down with a fever and she needed medication (after she'd gone to bed).  I guess she was never told at 10:45pm that her child had a project due the next day that would make or break his grade so she decided to sacrifice her sleep to run to the store to get what he needed and stay up all night helping.  I guess she has never been so ill she didn't know how she would make it to work and had to run to the store for anti-diarrhea medication so that she didn't get fired for missing work.

And besides all this, I guess she is so worried about what other people think of her that she feels she must put on a show every time she steps out of her house.  Some of us are actually self-confident enough to be seen in whatever we happen to be wearing without caring if the people around us approve.

I sometimes shop in my pajamas.  Sometimes because it takes every last bit of energy I have to get to the store so my family has milk.  Sometimes to get a treat for my daughter who had a difficult day.  And sometimes just because I am comfortable in my pajamas.

When I mentioned this to my friend, she pointed out that when super models are trying not to be noticed they walk around without makeup on and in sloppy clothes.  (I guess that's because they're so insecure, right?)

So I would say to the author of that post, next time you see a woman shopping in her pajamas just pretend she is a super model in hiding.  Maybe that way she won't be so offensive to you.

**********

No question, this was a full-on rant.  I was not proud of how I handled myself and addressed it soon after in A Difference of Opinion.

Wearing My Cranky Pants

I find myself wearing my cranky pants a lot lately, almost all the time.

I don't know why I do this.  They aren't very comfortable.  They're constricting, showing too many of my flaws.  They are not flattering at all.

And yet, day after day, I wear my cranky pants.

Maybe I've been getting dressed in the dark too often.  I reach for my pants and think I've got the ones I want.  Then later, in the light of day, I find I chose the wrong ones again.  I reached for my comfy pants or my peaceful ones.  But because I was in a hurry and didn't take the time to turn on the light, I ended up miserable.

And I've noticed that when I wear my cranky pants too many days in a row my family starts to think it's the new uniform and they all put on their cranky pants, too.  Before you know it we're one big, cranky family.

I guess I need to find my other pants and keep them closer.  I need to quit going with what's easy and look for what is really best for me and my family.  I need to plan in advance and work to have what I want available.  And most importantly, I need to turn the light on.

And maybe, after I change my wardrobe, I can help my family find their happy pants, too.

Do you know where your happy pants are?

I Refuse to Apologize

No, this isn't about my husband.  I usually don't apologize to him because I'm right and he's wrong.  Right, honey?  (That was a joke, by the way.)

This is about blogging.

I read a bunch of blogs.  I currently have about 65 that I'm subscribed to.  Few of them post every day.  Some almost never post.  I read most of those posts; I comment on very few of them.

There is one thing I see over and over that bugs me.  Apologies.  Apologies bug me because it seems like these bloggers are questioning themselves, whether they are enough with what they offer.  It feels like they believe they are inadequate as they are.  That they need to constantly dance to keep their followers happy.  These bloggers apologize constantly.   (No, not all of them.  But enough that it seems like all the time.)  I probably read a post with an apology at least once a week.  And in the blogging realm I think I am much less involved than others so I'm sure there are more out there. 

If I hurt someone's feelings through something I say, I am sorry.  And I will say so if I know that I hurt them.  But there are very few things about my blog other than that for which I will apologize.

I will not apologize for:
*not commenting on every blog I read
*not replying to every comment I receive
*not posting when you think I should
*not writing about what you think I should
*not using pictures on my blog
*dropping blogs that no longer appeal to me
*not blogging in the way you think I should, whatever way that is
*choosing my real life over an e-life

This is my blog.  I will decide how to use it. 

This blog is not my life.  I will not surrender my life to the internet and/or my followers.  When I am old and gray I hope to be surrounded by my family not my blog posts. 

Please do not read this post and think about all the things you're doing wrong (if you're a blogger).  Please do not feel like I am judging you.  I am not.  And because I am not, there is no need to apologize.  You don't owe me anything.  If I read your blog it is because I like what you write.  I consider your writing to be my reward for reading.  I don't need to be wooed or babysat.  Neither of those things will keep me coming back like good content.

Just be who you are, even on your blog.  Write what you want, when you want.  Authenticity in a blog will get you so much further ahead than pandering.

Pet Peeves

We all have them.  Those things that really irritate us no matter who does them. 

One of my biggest pet peeves is poor etiquette at concerts and plays.  Seriously, I want to throw rocks at those in the audience.  Sometimes I get so worked up about it that I can't even enjoy the production.  I've tried to get over it, but I just can't seem to let it go.

But this post isn't about my pet peeves.  Or your pet peeves.  It's about the term and idea of pet peeves.

When I look it up in the online etymology dictionary it brings up the connection to peevish.  Peevish is an adjective that describes a person showing irritation or annoyance.  That certainly fits.  That's definitely how I feel when my husband does any one of the hundreds of things he does that annoy me.

What about pet?  Aren't pets those cute little things we bring into our lives that add joy and comfort?  Things we choose?

Sometimes.

Sometimes they are those things that your child talked you into on a day when you just didn't have the fight left to deal with it.  Or the thing you agreed to keep thinking it would keel over dead before long.  Or that thing that was so cute when it was small and just makes a huge mess and takes a lot of work now that it's big.

One more thing to take care of.  One more thing to clean up after.  One more thing to worry about.

And I guess we do feed our pet peeves.  We do care for them and carry them around with us, nurturing them as if they were a pet.

Just something to think about.

Now, I'm off to try to overcome some of my pet peeves.  I'm starting to become the crazy cat lady with more pets than I can keep track of.  No wonder my life stinks.

Things My Blog Will Never Be/Have

I have been participating in the blogosphere (why does that word make me cringe?) for several months now.  Let me just say, I have learned a lot.

There are a lot of fantastic writers out there.  People who will never be published in a book, but who have awesome stories to tell and tell them well.  I swear real life is so much more interesting than fiction.

But there are also, um, how do I put this?  There are also a few . . . who struggle . . . to connect with . . . reality.  Maybe that works.  This post isn't about these people. 

I'm not talking about mental illness or those who blog about it.  I love these blogs.  These are truth at its most raw.  Open and vulnerable.  Striving to find the surface while life tries to pull them under.  I connect with these blogs.

And, if you're reading, I'm sure I'm not talking about your blog.  I'm sure it's wonderful.  And I'm sure that you will know and understand that all of these things I'm about to gripe about don't bug me when you do it on your blog.  You rock!

Blogging is so much more than I knew when I started.  It's a bunch of social networks, among other things.  Not like in high school.  Not full of cliques.  It's all about support.  So many of these blogs are written by women.  And all of us women know that women just don't get the praise they need and deserve, so the networks strive to provide some.  And they are wonderful.  I've picked up some new readers this way that have added to my experience.

But there are also things that kind of bug me.  Okay, they irritate me.  I understand why people do them, and I will keep reading the blogs that have them, but I will not have them on my blog.  Deal with it.

Ads:  I understand the need or desire to make money from blogging.  And more power to you if you choose to go this route -- I hope you make lots of money.  But my blog is about writing.  It's mostly for my own enjoyment.  I like my writing.  I like reading my writing.  And I'm big on sharing so you can read it, too.  But sometimes those ads on other blogs get so distracting that I'm tempted not to go there anymore.  They flash.  They scroll.  They show close ups of body parts that I both try to identify and try not to look at.  I've finally had to change the size of my window at some blogs so that only the post shows.  My peripheral vision is just too good.  That thing that flashes or scolls gives me a headache.

Memes:  I'm not positive about the definition of this one.  I think it's like a writing game that one person starts and all of their followers participate in and then they all link up to each others' posts.  Is that right?  Sometimes it's a bunch of questions.  Sometimes it's 100 words on such and such a topic.  Reading one person answer a bunch of questions might be fun.  I get bored part way through the second one.  There's no way I'm going on to the third one.  I understand others like this.  They must or it wouldn't be so prevelent.  You guys have fun.

Awards:  Okay, I tried this one once.  It didn't fit.  It wasn't me.  Different bloggers make up different awards and design a button and rules for it.  Then they give it out to other people.  These people follow the rules and pass it on to other people.  It's part of the giving praise thing.  I understand that it's fun to get an award, but this one just feels too much like chain mail for me. 

Writing Prompts:  Some blogs provide pictures, questions, quotes to use as writing prompts.  Something to get you started.  I understand the need for this.  I have been at that point where I just don't have anything to write about.  For me, I've learned that at that point it's best not to push it.  If I write during that time it just comes out forced.  I know some people have the desire to write regularly as an exercise to keep their writing muscles strong.  I don't feel this need.  I have enough things in my life that I have to force myself to do, writing is fun for me.  When it becomes work it is no longer satisfying.

Daily Themes:  Hmm.  How do I illustrate this without offending anyone?  I probably can't.  Forget about it Friday.  Weather Wednesday.  Toy of the moment Tuesday.  (I made those up, by the way.)  It's all about the alliteration in the title.  And something to write about.  A few of these I love, like Musical Monday at Kazzy's Ponderings.  But mostly they just seem cheesy to me.  Like I can't come up with stuff to write about on my own.  Plus, I don't want to commit to writing every Thursday.

Family Stories/Pictures:  In fact, pictures of any kind.  At first this was just because I knew that having to find and link pictures would be tedious and make it so that I didn't write as much.  I don't want my blog to be a journal or a family update or a mommy blog or a travelogue or a food blog or a craft blog or anything of the kind.  I like these blogs.  I follow several of them regularly.  I enjoy the pictures and the stories that remind me why I'm glad my kids are finally growing up.  But that's not what I want to do.  I want to write.  I want to think.  I want to share my conclusions or lack thereof.

Giveaways:  Why would I create more work for myself?  I'm not going to buy followers.  If you read my stuff, that makes me happy.  If you don't, I'm okay with that.  You do what works for you.  Giveaways will never be found here.  And I don't participate in them on anyone else's blogs either.  If you missed my post on shopping, go back and read it.  I have more than enough stuff.  I hate stuff.  Anything more than necessary to live is too much for me.  Why would I enter a contest to try to win more?

Begging for Comments:  I understand the need for validation.  It is a natural human need.  It feeds our souls when someone tells us good things about ourselves.  But if I have to beg for comments it's like begging for a compliment from my husband.  It just doesn't mean as much and isn't entirely believable.  That's just me.  If you long for comment-love so much that you want to ask for it, go ahead.  I've never been good at asking for things and I'm not going to start begging now.  I love comments, mostly because then I know who's reading.  But if you aren't so inclined I will love you still the same.

Girliness/Gushing:  I wrote one post about how much I love people.  That's as gushy as I get.  If you ever read one of my posts and hear giggling, squealing, and perky girliness then go back and read it again.  You read it WRONG.

What you will find on my blog.  Strange ramblings with way too many metaphors and similes.  Things that make you glad you don't actually know me in person.  Thoughts that seem like they came from someone who doesn't get out much (which, I guess sometimes, I really don't).  Variety that leads you to believe that not all of my mental illnesses have been diagnosed yet.  And a profile picture that is a gargoyle.

These things are me.  My blog is me.  I have spent way too much of my life trying to be what others want.  I'm not going to let that happen here.

Lots of people love all of these things.  And that is part of the beauty of the blogging world; there's something for everyone.  I was not talking about your blog, trust me.

If I offended you, go back and read the warning at the top of my blog.  I kind of knew I would.

*****
Author's Note:  As my friend, Kazzy, so kindly reminded me -- it drives me crazy when music automatically starts as I'm trying to read a blog.  I usually had my sound up to listen to something else and it startles me no matter how great the music is.  Not a pleasant experience.  Scaring me is not a good way to get me to follow you.