Out of control

Is one thing I (and probably most people) hate being.  If there is ever a circumstance where things are unpredictable, messy or just downright failing to follow my wishes then I meet it with uncontrollable rage and hysterical flapping.  Ironically.

For example: my dog has been obsessively licking the place they shaved her for her spaying  op last week.  Did I just tell her patiently to stop and then shrug my shoulders at her doggy ways?  No.  I went to the vets, got cream and last night made my husband cut a tail hole in a pair of my son’s boxers to try and deter her.  Even that didn’t work, disturbingly hilarious as it looked – she just found a way in and continued.  At this very moment I am stopping every other word to clap my hands and say “Hazel!  Stop it!”  I hate it when things don’t go the tidy way I want them to.

Here’s another instance: what am I doing early tomorrow morning?  Am I having a relaxing lie-in or a leisurely breakfast?  Oh no; I will be sitting in my car at the start of our postman’s delivery route waiting to collect my son’s AQE results because otherwise we’d be waiting until the afternoon to get them.  Is this because he’d be stressed waiting?  No of course not.  It’s me again, wanting to be in charge of the when.

I could go on and on citing the times when I have grabbed the reins to avoid what I think would be a disaster without my intervention.  Years after my children were potty trained I still ask them if they need the toilet before we go out places.  Ridiculous, isn’t it?

There have been several critical times in my life when everything has been whipped out of my grasp – sudden deaths of loved ones, a horrible diagnosis for my mum, and my own health.  Every day when I set out I don’t know if the park walk will be too much for me half way round.  Every day none of us know what curve ball will hit us when we least expect it.  Maybe that’s why I keep such a tight grip of the little things – because the unpredictability of the huge ones terrifies me.

But then, in the light of everything, why get stressed about those minor inconveniences?  Worrying about them doesn’t change the outcome.  So I have a dog with a raw tummy, it will heal.  My son will get his results one way or another tomorrow, with or without my intervention.

And yet, I’m still this moment shouting at Hazel, and planning an early night.

The accountability of this blogging malarkey is weak I fear.  Maybe there’s something I could do about that too…

 

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