Life is messy. Life is messy. Life is messy. If I say it enough times maybe it’ll sink into my thick, perfection-riddled noggin. I want everything to be as it should be. I want heaven on earth, dammit.
There’s no place in my world for my mother’s messy stroke and her frustrating inability to be happy, or even try. She refuses my best efforts to fix her. She won’t be enlightened. She won’t think positive. She can’t cope with her life and I can’t cope with her not coping. Her dysfunctional behavior is an affront to my well-being!
So, let’s step back a minute. Who gave me the job of making her happy? I’m deciding, right here and now, to resign. I’m abdicating my role of happy-face maker. Instead, I’m going to color outside the lines. Life is messy. Life is messy. Life is messy.