For the last few weeks, I’ve been stewing in my stress. I’ve been half-(nay, whole-) crazed with work, choir, performances, doctors, lectures, friends… you name it, it’s happened. I’ve been insane. I’ve offered no excuses, held back nothing, and in general been a horrid bitch.
Today I got a big wake-up call, though, when I darted out of my paper-stacked office to some overly-strong, burnt coffee at the Art Building, since I didn’t have time to go to my preferred baristas across campus. I walked outside, and what did I see?
Weak but glorious winter sunshine! The kind we Seattle-ites come to crave with a desperation so deep we salivate over our vitamin D tablets. The kind that offers you just a tiny glimpse of some kind of sanity and hope in the midst of the rain and the grey and the dark. The kind that prompts you to run around Greenlake, or have a picnic, or wear inappropriately small amounts of clothing. The kind you never, EVER take for granted.
So, what did I think when I saw evidence that the sun does still care about us way up here on the 47th parallel? Did I offer up praise for even a few seconds of sunlight? Did I smile at the world? Did I pause and tilt my head toward the sun just to feel the imagined warmth of its rays?
No. Of course not. I’m a crazed, stressed, miserly bitch. Instead of being grateful, I thought this:
“Goddamn stupid sunlight! It’s too bright! It’s making me squint! And it’s still f*%#ing cold! Stupid sun — if you’re going to show up to the party, at least bring a freaking degree or two. If you can’t be warm, I don’t want you. I hate you. Leave me alone. Stupid sun.”
SERIOUSLY?? What is my problem? Stress and self-imagined discontent has clearly shattered my rose-colored glasses so that not only are work, technology, and everyone in the world out to get me, but so is the innocent, life-giving sun.
Shame on you, me. Shame on you.
So, rather than plowing through my 900 emails, I am taking a moment to sip my bad coffee, book an appointment for a haircut, and chronicle my bad-attitude in the hopes of shaming myself into something better.
Wish me luck, folks. Nothing’s going to change until the end of March — this has to come from within. Eeek.