F*ing soul collage

I was in the worst mood this morning. My patience was nil. Everything was grating. And for no reason I can point to, I was just seeing red.

Stacey had asked me to come to a therapeutic gathering but I texted her saying it was probably not a good idea. Too much potential for collateral damage and all that. But she texted back saying it would be fine, come anyway.

I was tempted to stay home, but really eager to leave the house too. Feeling like the anti-nurturer, I certainly was not helping you or your dad. FYI - losing it in front of my kids is just about The Worst. Ditto for subjecting my sweet spouse to my inner crabby-pants. Feeling like a terrible person was just stacking guilt on to my terrible mood. Ugh.

So Stacey and Jamie picked me up after lunch.

Me: Sorry guys, I'm crabby and barely containing my temper. Plus my Tourette's is flaring and I can hardly keep myself from calling everyone an  f*er, so watch out.
Jamie (with sweet, calm disinterest): Ooo, really? I mostly prefer cock sucking bastard. Who do you want to call an f*er?
Me: You, my kids, that guy over there on the street. Everyone! You are all f*ers!
Stacey (singing): I'm an f*er, You're an f*er, we are all just a bunch of f*ing f*ers.

Grown up girlfriends are awesome.

I was already feeling better.

The next couple of hours were spent making "soul collages" which I had never heard of. It was wonderful though, very therapeutic and calming. That is really saying something for a Defcon 5 day.

The crafting exercise came smoothly and I enjoyed being busy with paper scraps that did not demand any social engagement.  The "reading" portion didn't feel very comfortable though, not surprising since putting anything into words (besides f*er of course) had not been flowing naturally all day.

I really should not joke about Tourette's as that is a very real affliction that I know nothing about experiencing. I call it that because I don't what it is. Sometimes my speaking brain and my thinking brain do not feel connected. Instead, it feels like my words are fed by pure emotion - usually white hot anger. This usually happens when I am super hormonal, or trapped somewhere I absolutely hate like in front of a dentist's drill or at Deseret Book. Unfortunately, you have met this side of me. She is pretty scary.

And here is her creation...

It will be interesting to do this on another day when I'm not mired in the mean reds.