So, it’s the second day back at work after the retreat and it’s all pretty much back to normal, except for the fact that my homework club partner Sarah is gone for the week to see her family. Another Americolleague is subbing in for her this week, and it’s working out really well. Having a regular, if slim, schedule of volunteers makes that much easier, of course.


Vacations, especially beach vacations, are supposed to be relaxing, re-energizing and mellow you out. But I’m actually finding myself grumpier and less tolerant this week, with a more “parental” tone of voice for the kids and far lower threshold for hijinks and random youthful mayhem.

If I had to guess, I’d thinking it might have something to do with facing an insurance declaration of “totaled” on a vehicle I just put $2600.00 of repairs into just over a week and a half ago. (Hmm…ya think that might do it?)

To be honest, though, I don’t actually feel that stressed about the truck in particular – angry, yes and certainly irritated but stressed as in worried about how it will turn out or what I’m going to do for transportation or how much it’s going to cost, eh, not so much.

I mean, the insurance will cover most of it, one way or the other. And hopefully if it’s totaled, the check we get will clear a beater work truck with enough money left over for a mechanical once-over, and we’ll be okay. And insurance is covering a rental in the meantime. So if you were to ask me if I was stressed about the truck, I’d think about it, poke my metaphorical tongue around in what would be sore spots if I was feeling stressed, and feeling no overt pain I’d say, “No, not really.”

But I’m guessing I’m actually surfing a biggish wave of non-localized stress over the whole situation that, while not manifesting in the crushing, towering, butt-clenching waves of stress you associate with the concept of “stress,” is probably welling up like a big, broad tsunami of low-grade, generalized stress that is simply too general for me to notice as a separate thing but is, in fact, lifting all the gauges to well above comfy parameters.

At least, that’s my best guess. It seems the most feasible alternative to why I’m all the sudden Soni the Hun and feeling all cranky and spiky around the edges.

And I am still pissed. I mean, dude, we didn’t even have that new transmission long enough to get in for our two-week installation break-in checkup. Grrrr…

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