Godzilla Scares Me

I have new beads waiting for me. I made them last week, they have been annealed in the kiln, and they are currently sitting atop said kiln...waiting. I work through the week, and all the little annoyances, knowing that I have shiny little lovelies at home waiting for me to turn into something fun and pretty.

 The colors make me think of Spring!

But first, I have to get through the week. Here are a few of the things that have happened so far.

On my morning drive, I have to ascend a gigantic hill that is about a half mile long. I love cruise control, but on those long hills, I feel like it expects a little too much from my little Rav4. I mean, really, there is no need to push the RPM needle so close to the red part of the half circle, no need at all.  Me, I have a softer touch than Mr. Cruise, so I let my car go a little slower up the hill. 'It's all good!' I croon as I caress the dashboard, 'You just take your time, Rav, we are in no hurry.' But then, out of nowhere, a rusted out pickup pulls into the passing lane to go around me. I don't mind if you want to pass, honestly, but not before I've reached full speed, otherwise, once we crest the hill and the lanes merge together, I will only have to pass you because I am irrationally certain that you will drive slower than me once I reach cruising altitude, except by then I will not have the luxury of a passing lane like Impatience McSpeedy did. So I am faced with a choice, do I abuse my little Rav, i.e. mashing the pedal down and screaming "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!", or do I let him pass, most likely kicking up gravel and chipping my windshield in the process? My windshield has more pockmarks than...I don't know, the moon? Sorry, I'm a little tired. Ahh, the decisions we must make, and now I have a shiny new pock mark. But, that's okay because...

I have this at home.

Next, I am a therapist, and I am currently working in a school. Before this, I worked in a community mental health agency, and I did a lot of diagnosis--not something I really do anymore. At least, not on the record. Something I don't often tell people about me is that when others get on my nerves, I am most likely diagnosing them in my mind--usually with made up disorders. For example: "You want to know when I'm going to have a baby because, and I quote "You're not getting any younger?" Really? I don't even know your last name, and you want to talk to me about my plans for reproduction? Like we're close friends, or sisters? Hmm...sounds like Psychosis with a secondary condition of Jerk Face Not Otherwise Specified. You may want to consider medication, or at least work on replacing the filter between your brain and your mouth. Okay, I need to calm down. Deep breath, picture it...

So pretty (dreamy eyes).

Another thing, I ordered Girl Scout Cookies a while back, and they were delivered the other night. This is both good and bad. Good because, face it, Girl Scout Cookies are awesome. Bad because those little devils are terrible for you, and I have zero will power. I was born without it. Also, I was born with really thin finger nails, thanks Mom. With my lack of will power, I have devised some more creative ways of dealing with junk food, mostly through the use of verbal abuse. Donuts for instance:

I walk into the lounge at work. Donut sits on the counter, staring at me with his one eye. I stare right back, not blinking.

"You don't scare me, Donut. In fact, I pity you. Just look at you, all gooey and covered in sprinkles. What? You think your special because you're rainbow colored? Well, I haven't cared about rainbows since fourth grade. Good day, Sir." I toss my hair and stride right out of there, only to turn right around because I forgot to refill my coffee cup, which is why I went in there in the first place. (FYI, sometimes one or two teachers are sitting there silently while I do this, but it's okay, they're used to me).

This works quite well with donuts, because those guys are street smart. Girl Scout Cookies, however, are the innocents of the junk food world, and I just don't feel right about giving them the verbal business. So, here is how I chose to deal with those little beasts:

 See, Godzilla is protecting them from me. Just look in his eyes:

Do you want a piece of that? I don't. Noooo thank you. So, I quietly back out of the room, easing the door shut as I go.

I think I will make it through the week. After all, what's a little irritation when there are so many good things to look forward to?

How do you get through life's little annoyances?