Kangatopia

I don’t know if it’s because of all the exercise, or if I’m just genuinely closing my eyes to the harsh realities of my life, but lately I haven’t been able to get too anxious about anything. For example, this morning all the facts seemed to point to the certainty that Bear was going to be late to school. However, instead of putting our lives in danger and racing through bumper car-esque traffic, I simply relaxed and turned up the radio. And sang along. And Bear was not late to school, not really. I mean, I pulled up and more or less shoved him out of the car just as the bell rang, but he didn’t get a tardy. It’s not just limited to the hectic morning rush either. I’ve been getting warm fuzzy feelings at work lately too. I sit at my desk pretty much all day long and feel that I accomplish very little. I haven’t been leaving the office for lunch, and so it may be that because I sit at my desk for 9 hours straight every day that I actually am accomplishing quite a bit more than I think. I doubt it - but that does not erase the fact that my desk is a lot clearer than it usually is and not one person has said anything to me (yet) that would indicate that they think I am a chronic goof off. I wouldn’t cop to that (on this blog) anyway. Since Jack and I broke up, I haven’t bothered to clean the apartment either except for things that would smell or attract bugs if I didn’t do something (such as the dishes, the toilets after Bear has peed all over them and the trash). This doesn’t bother me either. The whole place is littered with toys, and I’m really not annoyed. The carpet needs to be spot cleaned and that semi obssesive streak that occasionally had me on my hands and knees for hours hasn’t kicked in. My car is trashed. Do I care? Not really. I have kids. Who has time for cleaning a car? Or picking up toys for that matter? It’s really just kind of weird. I think I’ve lived most of my adult life in a state of anxiety.