I do, sometimes, wonder if I’m mentally unhinged.
Well, not mentally. Emotionally unhinged. I’m pretty okay mentally.
But on a functional level, I am a professional maker of molehills into sizeable hikes. I am wont to speak in hyperbole, hypothesize in worst case scenarios, and react in outsized proportions.
But my feelings are real, so I try not to tell myself that they’re wrong.
Even though they’re totally wrong.
Today included a talk with my son about behavior I anticipate will lead to a career in crime. I talked to colleagues about a mass layoff that begins tomorrow. I spoke with a pediatrician who, in filling in for our regular doctor, actually laughed at my concerns and asked me what’s wrong with me. And I talked the babysitter of the ledge when my kids were fighting about the packing material that came in a box delivered (and opened) last week.
I should be exhausted. And grouchy.
I’m not. For now, there a cat on my lap, a book within reach, a cup of hot water, and a quiet house.
So is it a mood disorder that I’m not stressed right now? That I notice the calm and warmth of cat and steaming mug? That I’m willing to forget the day’s roller coaster?