A Day in the Life of a Stress Case
I get super stressed out when things don’t go the way they should. Since things rarely go the way they should, it is safe to say that I am almost always stressed out. I stress about the big things, I stress about the little things. I guess you could call me an equal-opportunity stresser.
Today, for example, my stress began at 5:15am when I woke up stressed out that I was up before the sun for no good reason. I figured I’d make the most of the early morning hours and hit the gym. The gym was blissfully empty until 5 minutes later when someone came in and decided to blast the television. I started stressing out for the following reasons:
- The noise level was WAY TOO MUCH for 4 o’clock in the afternoon, nevermind the delicate early morning hours.
- I SO wanted to inform the offender that he could listen to the TV as loud as he wanted if only he would invest in a pair of $15 earphones to use in the handy-dandy audio hookup that was so conveniently located on every machine. Unfortunately I didn’t say anything except good morning. And then I proceeded to stress about the fact that I hate confrontation.
After the gym I headed back upstairs to take a shower. I stressed out that even Pantene wasn’t calming my frizz and that a year without Japanese straightening was about 6 months too long. I stressed out wondering when I’d find time to head to the salon for the aforementioned straightening, and stressed that something would go wrong with the 100+ chemicals my Japanese straightening guru used to tame my hair.
As I was stressing about my hair, Maya woke up and my stress factor shot through the roof. We headed to the kitchen where I made Maya’s breakfast, all the while stressing about what to put in her lunchbox. I lectured her on finishing her lunch before eating any snacks offered by her teachers, but stressed that she wouldn’t listen and her lunchbox would come back full again. I stressed that I would smack her silly if it did.
After stressing about work for most of the day, I picked up Maya and immediately started stressing when she asked me, in the span of 2 minutes, what was for dinner and could we go to the park? On the way to the park I stressed about the traffic and my lack of planning for dinner. At the park I stressed about an annoying little brat who kept following Maya around, trying to steal her shovel. I stressed that she was going to whack him on the head with it, and even though he deserved it, I stressed that I thought a little kid deserved a whack on the head.
At home I pulled together some daal, pita bread, and hummus for Maya, with a side of banana slices. I stopped stressing for a minute but then it was time to give her a bath so I started stressing again. Luckily the Pantene got through her tangles better than mine, we agreed on a pair of pajamas with little argument, and I settled her in front of Max and Ruby for a blissful 30 minutes of silence so I could write this post.
Right now I am stressing out that I used the word “stressing” way too many times in this post and I am stressing that you stopped reading this post 5 minutes ago.
There is one thing today that didn’t stress me out, however, and that should be acknowledged:
My new sofa and loveseat came in today. Not only do they look great but the entire process, from purchase to delivery was stress-free. My only complaint? I wish that our old area rug didn’t look so hideous next to the new sofas.
Let the stressing begin…
A Moroccan Memory
The only time I can recall eating Moroccan food was when my parents took my siblings and I on a trip to Epcot Center. Like most family vacations, Epcot consisted of my dad complaining about the price of just about everything, us kids complaining that we were hungry and/or tired and/or wanted to be at Disney World, and my mom complaining that she was tired of listening to all of our complaints.
To be honest, I can’t really blame my dad because Epcot was very expensive. And worst of all? There was nothing to do! We walked around kind of aimlessly, not knowing how to justify admission costs. We were very unclear as to why we spent an arm and a leg in entrance fees only to spend even more money on overpriced food and souvenirs. The only thing that was clear was that us kids needed to do some serious “oohing” and “aahing” if we wanted to avoid our father getting angrier with each unproductive and pricey minute that went by.
After humoring my dad for a few hours, we were all relieved when he announced it was time for lunch. But our happiness was short-lived because he chose a Moroccan restaurant. Not only were we not in the mood for a food adventure, but the food was really terrible. I mean, it was so terrible that I was literally gagging with each bite. But we abided by my dad’s golden rule…when he was spending money we had to pretend like we were having a good time, no matter what. My sister didn’t get the memo though because she decided she wasn’t going to humor anyone, least of all my dad. The fallout wasn’t pretty and needless to say, Epcot was our last and final family vacation.
Despite my horrible experience with Moroccan food, I was totally craving it yesterday. I think it partially had to do with the fact that after much counseling I am finally at peace with the nightmare surrounding Epcot, and partially because I came across a recipe for Chickpea Tagine with Cinnamon, Cumin, and Carrots and by some miracle I had almost all the ingredients.
I never have all the ingredients for something, because, well that would just be nuts.
I revised the recipe a bit, as follows:
1 Tablespoon of olive oil
1/2 small onion, thinly sliced
1 14.5 oz can of chickpeas, rinsed and drained
3 medium carrots, peeled and sliced
1/4 frozen spinach
1/4 cup of dried cranberries
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon honey
Heat the oil in a large pan, add the onion and saute 2-3 minutes until the onion slices are soft. Stir in chickpeas, carrots, dried cranberries, spices, honey, and 1 cup of water. Cover and simmer 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Season with salt and pepper.
Yogurt and cilantro would have been good additions to this awesome dish, but of course I didn’t have either item in my refrigerator. Big surprise there, right? But I did have brown rice, proof that miracles do happen.
I was a bit nervous that Ali would have issues with a totally new dish for dinner, but other than to ask me if the dish had cinnamon in it, I heard no other comments. I think my defensive, “Why, is it not good?” response probably scared him into proceeding any further.
What can I say? I have my dad’s temper.
My Next Life
Those of you who haven’t met me probably have no idea that I have a serious issue speaking. The strange thing is that while I have no problem forming a thought in my head, there is a disconnect between my brain and my mouth and more often than not I stumble around saying things that don’t make sense. For example: “Ali, my heat seater isn’t working.” While that statement is idiotic for numerous reasons, first and foremost is the fact that I meant seat heater.
All I can say is count your lucky stars that you only have to read the nonsense I write…imagine how much worse it would be if you had to listen to it too?
Seeing as my speech patterns are only getting worse as I get older, I finally decided to join Toastmasters to improve my public speaking skills. During my very first meeting I had to get up and make a speech about who I would like to come back as in my next life and why. I am not good at thinking on the spot so I said the first thing that came to my mind: “I would like to come back as my 5-year-old daughter because all she does is play, complain, eat, and watch TV.”
And then there was…silence.
I sat twiddling my thumbs while the moderator explained that I had to talk for an entire minute. Instead of taking a second to think of something intelligent to add, I panicked and started rambling on that Maya is spoiled because her grandfather gives her everything she wants, and who wouldn’t want to come back as someone spoiled? I think that took another 5 seconds. I’ll spare you the rest of the sad details but I basically failed my first assignment. You can see why I need Toastmasters.
Anyway, now that I’ve had time to really think about it, I came up with a bevy of reasons I’d like to be Maya.
Being Maya entails having your very own trampoline…
Being Maya gets you breakfast in bed…
Being Maya means you have the imagination to put bubble wrap on a giraffe, a Bugaboo umbrella, and some socks, and call it art…
Being Maya means you have no manners or class (like your father) and you have no regrets drinking the last of the juice…
Being Maya means you have no problem eating dessert on a Tuesday night…just because its Tuesday…
And being Maya means you can use your grandfather as a lounge chair anytime you feel like it…
Most of all, being Maya means you don’t say stupid things like “Mom, I have chains in my pest.”
Oh wait, I didn’t say that. My brother did. Either speech impediments are a genetic thing or our parents scarred us somehow as children. In any case, I wonder if Toastmasters will give us a two-for-one sibling discount?
Who do you want to come back as in your next life?
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 
