JUST CHILLIN'
Okay, so after my three-week Spring Break, I've come to a conclusion. Life is just too short to get all hot and bothered over stuff that really is beyond my control. During the last three weeks, I've been more mellow ... more calm ... more serene ... than I have been in I. DON'T. KNOW. HOW. LONG.
Life is just too short to allow my panties to get into a bundle all of the time.
So, I've decided that I will roll with the punches ...
Go with the flow ...
Ride the waves ...
Move with the movers ...
Shake with the shakers ...
I'm going to be mellow, man ...
Your kid doesn't like working in the group with the rest of the students? Oh, you want her to have projects on her own? Okay, sure. I'm down with that!
What? You're son doesn't like following the rules that everyone else is expected to follow? You want me to give him an entirely new set of rules ... just for him? I'm soooooo over the old set of rules.
You don't want to follow the rules of the road like millions of people before you have been required to follow? Okay, I'm catching your vibe. Do what makes you feel good, dude!
You desire to cut me off at every other turn and then slow down obnoxiously in front of me? Why not!? Right? Like, I'll get there eventually.
Oh, wait, you don't care that your grocery cart is in EVERY ONE'S way ... parked in the MIDDLE of every grocery aisle I've entered? Dude! I totally understand. Park away. In fact, stand there for 20 minutes playing EENY-MEENY-MINY-MOE with the Great Value brands of peanut butter. I LOVE this place. I want my ashes buried here ...
Now, I realize this new-found sense of self-awareness may backfire on me, now that I've publicly declared that I'm mellow. I may need a reminder that I'm rolling with the punches on those days that I'm out on my ledge and need talking down. Would you mind serving as the negotiator that will talk me down off of my ledge before I take that giant leap into the hopeless void of "being wound tighter than an eight-day clock?"
I would be ever so grateful.
Life is just too short to allow my panties to get into a bundle all of the time.
So, I've decided that I will roll with the punches ...
Go with the flow ...
Ride the waves ...
Move with the movers ...
Shake with the shakers ...
I'm going to be mellow, man ...
Your kid doesn't like working in the group with the rest of the students? Oh, you want her to have projects on her own? Okay, sure. I'm down with that!
What? You're son doesn't like following the rules that everyone else is expected to follow? You want me to give him an entirely new set of rules ... just for him? I'm soooooo over the old set of rules.
You don't want to follow the rules of the road like millions of people before you have been required to follow? Okay, I'm catching your vibe. Do what makes you feel good, dude!
You desire to cut me off at every other turn and then slow down obnoxiously in front of me? Why not!? Right? Like, I'll get there eventually.
Oh, wait, you don't care that your grocery cart is in EVERY ONE'S way ... parked in the MIDDLE of every grocery aisle I've entered? Dude! I totally understand. Park away. In fact, stand there for 20 minutes playing EENY-MEENY-MINY-MOE with the Great Value brands of peanut butter. I LOVE this place. I want my ashes buried here ...
Now, I realize this new-found sense of self-awareness may backfire on me, now that I've publicly declared that I'm mellow. I may need a reminder that I'm rolling with the punches on those days that I'm out on my ledge and need talking down. Would you mind serving as the negotiator that will talk me down off of my ledge before I take that giant leap into the hopeless void of "being wound tighter than an eight-day clock?"
I would be ever so grateful.
Comments
I don't want to get to the end of my life and say, "I wished I'd had more fun."