I Don't Like Rollercoasters

When I was a kid we went on a lot of field trips to amusement parks.  Most of the other kids couldn't wait to get on the rollercoaster.  I, however, avoided it like the plague (that researchers are saying was NOT, apparently, spread by rats or their fleas, but by humans.  Figures).
The Tilt-a-Whirl?  Absolutely!  Ferris Wheel?  Bring it ON!  Teacups!  Lets go as fast as is humanly possible (extra points if you vomit at any point).
But I HATED, and still hate, rollercoasters.

I've been on a few in my time.  Have never enjoyed them.  And I think it's because (here it comes! The Metaphor!) I've pretty much been on an EMOTIONAL rollercoaster for as long as I can remember.  (See that?  See what I did there?)
In fact, that should be a ride.  Emotional Rollercoaster. It'd be set up like "It's A Small World" at Disneyland.  Only instead of visiting other cultures, with cute (creepy) little singing animatronic children greeting you at every turn, it would be scenes from your life.  What's around this corner? Oh, hey! It's your parents' dashed hopes for you!  And next, we have the high school crush who asked you to the prom, then reneged at the last minute because s/he and her/his ex, who is WAY hotter than you, got back together!  And here; oh boy, it's your BOSS!

And so on.

What all of this is leading to is a fight Hubby and I had over the weekend.  We rarely fight, so when we do...look out!  We ended up talking through a lot of things, and resolved a whole host of stuff, so it was a productive fight, at least, but it's still left me feeling anxious and depressed.  In ways I haven't felt in a long time.
And worse, it's left me with that feeling of having no control over what happens in my own life. Of being buffeted around by exterior forces.
Which is what made me such a control freak in the first place, all those years ago.  It's been a long, strange, painful trip, prying my fingers off of my life and trying to let things just BE.  Obviously I'm not there yet. I think I still have a pinky and an index finger stuck to it all, like that kid's tongue on the frozen pole in "A Christmas Story."

It hasn't helped that this past month has been pretty whack, as the kids used to say.  (OK, those kids are now in their 30's and working as investment bankers...)  Between my Mom's visit, my father-in-law's going back to the hospital, school meetings and IEPs for the kids, my class, and just now a visit form another family member, it's been a whirlwind, and I've had trouble catching my breath.

I'm hoping April will be calmer.

(And can I just point out that my father-in-law, on THE DAY HE WAS RELEASED from the hospital, went right to work in his garden?!?!?!  Pretty awesome.)

But I hate this feeling.  The shifting sands.  I realize it will come up every now and again, and at least it's not permanent, like it used to feel.  But that's exactly it: It reminds me, quite viscerally, of the Bad Old Days. Which makes me want to hide under the bed until it passes.
Not that that works.  You have to face these things head-on, or they'll just keep comin' at ya!

So.  It's Monday morning.  Time to pull on my big-girl panties and deal.

Have a good one!