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Start It Up

This is the last day of my mini vacation. It’s been fun and I got a lot of stuff done. I cleared out a closet, switched out my purse, made a couple pumpkin pies and some soup and just hung out looking at all the overgrown, nearly dead plants in my flower beds that needed to be yanked up and composted.

However, it was not a very peaceful weekend with the men in the house. I really want to shove the blame to one or both of them, but I realized as I was walking with a friend yesterday that I am an escalator. She is too, of her own admission; maybe that’s why we get along so well.

We often walk around our neighborhood and vent about our days, spouses, children. We have to talk fast because we only walk a 3-mile loop. In the midst of one of her tales, she cavalierly mentioned that she knew she was an escalator. I stopped her and pointed out what she had just said, and we both got a good chortle out of it because we both knew it to be true – of the both of us.

I’m also a fire starter.

What’s it all mean? Well, I suppose life is complicated enough with bills to be paid, work to be done, a child to raise and any of the other numerous things that demand my time. I need to add a little excitement by poking and prodding the people in my house until we all combust. Then I stand back in my egotistical ways and blow and blow and blow until the fire has reached a point that it threatens to envelop us all before consuming our house and moving onto the neighbor’s split level.

In the midst of escalating the flames I tell myself that I have to do so; it would be complacent to sit back and keep my mouth shut, right? I don’t intentionally, well usually, step in and stir things up to just get a rise out of everyone in our house. I certainly don’t make it a practice in other relationships at work or play, so why do I feel it is an appropriate way to behave with the people who are dearest to me?

Is it the evil-eyed control monster lurking in the recesses of my mind, who looks for ways to create havoc at every turn? When will I learn that I can’t control my surroundings? It didn’t work when I was a kid, plunked down in the middle of a dysfunctional alcoholic family. Years of therapy proved that, so why do I think that it is worthy of my time now?

It makes me also wonder how it affects my eating habits. The scale has the answer to that quandary, ugh. Does it always have to boil down to the fact that I need to work on ME? Man that pisses me off.

What do I have control over? My behavior, the time I get up, whether or not I choose to go to work, exercise, pay my bills and how I interact with myself and others. It’s really not that difficult, unless I choose to make it so. Now, there’s a kick in the ass… I control whether or not I make my life hard, tolerable or smooth sailing. Are there things you like to control that would be best left to their own devices? Please share…

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