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Monday, December 19, 2016

'Twas the Night After Christmas

At least as far as Studio East's kids' show is concerned.

As much as I love it there, I think I was maybe biting off more than I could figuratively chew this year. I mean, the idea was to distract us all from our grief, and while that may have worked for the kids, during the last week or so I have been on the edge.

Like tipping over the edge.

As in, if anything else went wrong (the Studio wasn't something wrong; it just added stressors to the pile), I was going to run naked and screaming down the (chilly) streets of suburban Seattle.

That would not be pretty for anyone, although it might be good for my fitbit.

And it might still happen, although I made it through today without melting down, even though the same rule as yesterday applied. By the end of today, I (half-seriously) considered answering the phone with something like, "Thank you for calling Jenn's Sympathy for Lost Loved Ones Service. How may I empathize today?"

Or maybe, "Hello, Jenn's Whose Dolly Did I Bust, how may I help yooouuuu?"

Because seriously, it was like all the calls from customers who had just had a death in the family were being routed to me.

In any case, all my Facebook friends already know this, as do several people in Real Life. And so I'd like to mention all in one "thread" in my blog (where most people I know will see it), what my plans are to get myself back in some sort of decent emotional shape.

I know it's not a quick fix or a solution, but there may be a means to an end here.

I'm going to use the Thinking Putty my lovely colleague gave me to keep my hands busy (rather than biting my nails). I'm going to get my own bottle of the essential oil formula a coworker lent me (yeah, yeah, I don't care about the science (or not) behind aromatherapy; it helps me feel better). I'm joining a local Widows' support group. I'm continuing Weight Watchers.

If I need it I'll get separate therapy, but I suspect a lot of the extra stress will subside after the First Christmas Without Laston.

Hey, scratch that; something bad just happened and I swore a blue streak, but there was no naked screaming or running.