I still cry when I don't get my way

Despite mom's best efforts and contrary to Fergie's belief, this big girl still cries when things consistently don't go my way.

Kristin and I have discussed this many times, including today when I sat in a Walgreens parking lot talking to her on the phone and, uh-huh, crying.

And canceling our weekend plans.

And blubbering about how my office carpets were still wet and smelling like mold.

And about how 15 minutes earlier I'd packed up all my stuff and left my office but then realized on my way out to the truck that leaving wasn't feasible due to my grown-up responsibilities.

And telling her that the man who's had my car for two months hasn't even looked at it to find out what's wrong with it.

And that my body hurts.

I would classify our entire conversation as a pity party with the following points made:

1) I feel dumb that I've allowed wet carpets the satisfaction of disturbing my peace of mind so much.
2) A semi-insignificant twist in events sets me off-kilter and then I cry a lot. And then I charge forward until the next cup of milk spills and I shed tears over that one.
3) Canceling weekend plans hurt, I'm not going to lie. I miss these people.

I'm thankful for friends who understand and listen to me snot over the phone. I'm thankful for family who criticizes my many-years-old-bleach-stained lounge pants and threatens to sic Stacy and Clinton on me if I ever wear them again. I'm thankful that I don't care (too much!) and wore them to Wal-Mart and Lowes anyway. I'm thankful for hanging out with the little brother and sister who exasperated me to the point of uncontrollable laughter tonight.

I love these people, I love my life, I love the value in each day - even the crummy ones like this one.