Note to self

I've been doing it again lately. Keeping myself up at night with a million thoughts a minute. Replays of failures and worries running over and over on a continous loop to the point where it's damn near impossible to feel like things are actually doing just fine. I had an intense internal dialogue going for a while this morning on the way to work, and it got to be pretty funny. I was pretty hard on myself, truth be told. It went something like this:

Dear Self,

Grow up. No, seriously. Get over it already. We all have bills that are a month behind. We all hate our jobs on the ride in to work each morning. We all wish we had more money for more cappucinos or the Coach purse in the window. But move on. The constant whine in this head of yours is like a nagging buzz that never, ever ends.

Here's a hint: let go of the maniacal need to "organize" every other minute. In 10 years, your boys will remember the times you plunked down on the carpet and chewed on their legs or taught them checkers. They won't remember how awesomely organized the DVD cabinet was or how there was never any clutter on the kitchen counters. Seriously. Let it go now and then.

You should buck up. When did you get so wimpy and insecure? If someone is rude or makes you feel small, tell them to kick rocks. To their face, even. Don't carry the insult around for days, stewing on it. It's annoying. This hesitance and fear habit you've picked up the past few years is really depressing and it makes it hard to like you sometimes.

Quit worrying about how others see you. Nine times out of ten, the things they're thinking of have ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with you. And when it is about you, it's their problem, not yours. Let them be insecure and petty.

Would it kill you to pluck an eyebrow or put on clothes that have been ironed once in a while? Since when does having two kids make it OK to look like a cave dweller?

Remember how all the hair on one side of your head fell out after brain surgery? Remember the crying and the fits you threw because you had giant bald spots that you couldn't hide? I do. You didn't shut up about how you couldn't wait to feel normal again and like yourself in the mirror. And now what?

Buy a scarf or something, woman. You're starting to scare the children. What's next? Sweat pants and rollers at the store? Take a little pride in yourself now and then, and you'll go far.

Call your mother. Call your dad. Call your grandmother. Call P's family. Just call. Send them Boy Wonder's kindergarten art. Send them cheesy Alaskan postcards with computer-drawn igloos and whale tales superimposed on water scenes. Time is precious and it's rushing by like water in a stream. You should know this by now. Feel blessed that there are people out there who want to hear from you and who miss you.

If you want to write, write. If you want to hang upside down off a building, hang upside down off a building. It gets old listening to the "I wish I could..." and "Wouldn't it be fun..." repeatedly. Do it. Or don't. Just shut up about it already.

And turn the TV off a little more. Boy Wonder has seen every single SpongeBob and Phineas and Ferb twice over. Enough already. Make him use the ol' imagination a little more, and before long, he won't notice the big annoying electronic box isn't spewing a million commercials an hour at him. He might sleep better, too.

Make it happen. Anything happen, it doesn't matter--you used to be really good at that. Now you hem and haw and think about possible consequences and whether it'd be too inconvenient or time consuming. You're driving me crazy. Just make it happen.