What is this? Why am I so grumpy? From where does this bitchiness derive?
The past few days, this easy-going woman turned into the synthesis of The Grinch and Scrooge. A description I use to describe my own deceased, psychotic father during the holidays (he once threw a Christmas tree through the front window), but for me to develop into this creature, the Scringe, well, let’s just say this is far from my norm.
Freshly showered, applying moisturizer to my parched and peeling face, thanks to fall’s dry air, I stare at the beasty, and wonder, why am I such a monster of late? Surely, dry skin can’t be to blame?
Snippy, short, and quick to madden, the uncomfortableness that arises from this stranger before me leaves me searching for answers, and, I don’t like me much. How can anyone else, especially my poor bewildered man?
Does the ugly stem from a hormone imbalance, digestive issue, or what? God forbid, am I becoming my dad or did his spirit overtake me? Do I lack essential vitamins/sunshine?
This morning, a realization dawned. With the approach of Thanksgiving, a sorrowful anniversary is upon me, and the remembrance sends my soul into longing despair.
Almost, sixteen years ago, after spending a fabulous holiday with my mom, she suddenly died. The combination of pneumonia and heart trouble ushered her into a critical realm from where she would not recover, and faced with this crisis, the decision to remove life support rested solely with me. An enigmatic and tortuous undertaking.
Relief swept over me as I realized there was a reason for my recent transformation into a major B-I-T-C-H. A satisfactory explanation existed. Yearly remembrances of past events are not exclusive of happy occurrences such as marriages/birthdays, but also of sad happenings.
Nothing can change the facts surrounding the unfortunate circumstance nor the sadness that envelops me at this time of year, but awareness of why I’ve developed into this short-tempered sorehead brings me some solace and hope.
Phew! This metamorphosis into a wicked witch is somewhat understandable, forgivable. More important, this evil entity is temporary.
Understanding has a way of making the She-Devil evaporate. At least, until next year when the ill-tempered, not so pleasant lady visits again.
For now, with the mysteries of the irritating bitch unraveled, a sigh of, “Thank goodness,” rings through the house. From my partner and myself. And, for this, I am thankful. Who wants to spend Turkey Day with Ms. Bitchy? Not me!