It's Been an Emotional Day and This is Just the Half of It

Today I feel a bit like Scarlett O'Hara. I wish it was for one of the better scenes of the book. Remember the scene when she tells Rhett that she is afraid that she is going to hell? I can't even remember why she thinks that. Had one of her husbands just died? Yes, I think it must have been Frank Kennedy. She came down to the parlor to talk to Rhett and actually looked a little peaked. But it had nothing to do with grief for the bereaved. She was frightened for herself that she was going to hell.

Well, I am frightened for myself that I cannot be nice. And that may in actuality send me to hell. I am frightened of being nice. And I am frightened that this is bothering me because literally I am getting sick to my stomach about thinking of trying to be nice. It scares me that bad. Scarlett started crying hysterically about the whole thing and that is exactly what I want to do.

I have always thought that being interesting was where it was at but I honestly get all "brain dead" when it comes to having ........manners. That small talk that supposedly comes to easily to women is completely lost on me. I recognize it when I see it. I even appreciate it when it is done sincerely. But when the moment occurs that I should pop out with a compliment, a thank you, a hug or a "what can I do to help?" I freeze up. I am the queen of coming up with the ediquette soaked conversation lines after I am home. Sometimes I blame this phenomenon on anxiety. I am scared to show love. Sometimes at even more pitiful moments I question whether I have any love to give. It is not one and the same. I probably need to decide which it is. I might not be going to hell if it really is fear.

I am a social disgrace with other women and I am sick of it. However, my children are not very nice to each other and I am wondering if I am not showing them a good example of being nice. And that concerns me more. I do try with my children. I must admit that I feel very good about my work as a mother. I know I am trying. I know that I am working at it. I am proud of my efforts. I am proud that I am able to see my children as individuals and know they have to make their own decisions. Of course, I could do better. I don't say "I love you" every day. Not even to Bart. I do find myself acting like a military colonel sometimes and that leads me right back to the not being nice.

I was at a meeting tonight. A meeting about teaching. I do love teaching. I feel passion about teaching. My friend was there as well. She is just so open and loving. At the end of the meeting she was talking to everyone just schmoozing all comfortable. I just left. I apparently am so private that I had to bottle up all the good good feeling and not share it with anyone. I feel like that. I hold onto the love so tightly that I can't share it for fear of letting it out along with tears, uncontrollable laughter or throw up.

You know, the first boyfriend that I really liked was Dan. He came to take me on a walk around the lake holding hands. I looked into his eyes and promptly threw up. True story.

You know, sometimes in the throes of marital bliss I will just start laughing hysterically, uncontrollablly, completely not in a turn on sort of a way. True story.

You know, today I went to Cooper's parent teacher principal conference and I started crying because I just love that boy so much. And he has had such a rough year. Third teacher. True story. And truly embarrassing.

Enough of those true stories happen and you start to make sure all the emotions are tucked away as far as they can be. Including love and niceness. Because being the social leper that I am here on earth is worse than the prospect of sitting in hell with an interesting girl like Scarlett O'Hara.