Karma

Dear diary, the tennis didn’t happen. I didn’t really bother to ask either my husband or my son to go play. They were both wrapped up in their own stuff and I forgot about playing tennis anyway. I got distracted vacuuming the rug. That was several hours ago. Presently I am trying to recover from getting into a disagreement with my son. Sometimes it can be hard to deal with a teenager who prefers to look on the negative side of everything. No idea where he gets that habit from, or his penchant for trying to hurt people with the nastiest verbal insults he can think of. Okay, I guess that’s my own stuff coming back to bite me. They say karma is a bitch. I dished it out when I was a teenager, now I’m getting it back.

I guess it’s stuff like this that sometimes makes me believe I don’t deserve other than what I get in life. I could have handled the situation better after all. I didn’t need to be shouting and cursing and giving the neighbors an earful of crass. Such a shame for a grown woman and a mother to be carrying on like that, and for her target to be her own son. Whatever he may have done to irritate me, at the end of the day I am still the mother, and I am the one who looks bad, not him. He just looks like a typical teenager.

Sigh. And to think I was feeling pretty good today. What now? I suppose the only thing I can do is just let it go. I behaved badly. I said things that, while true, didn’t need to be put in the way I chose to put them. I wish I had listened to my husband who kept telling me to stay calm. I guess I just wanted the right in that moment to be a bitch; because here, I don’t get to express my frustrations very often. And I deal with a lot of frustration on a daily basis.

I was trying to help my son and he was rude and I took offense and overreacted. I overreacted. Now I can choose to overreact even more by beating myself up about it or I can let it go.

Now, if I was rich, none of this would have happened in the first place because the circumstances for such a blow up would never have presented themselves. But I can’t blame poverty for the lack of decorum I demonstrated today, because there are a lot of poor women who are classy and never go around shouting expletives at the top of their lungs with the window opened at that; and conversely, there are a lot of rich women who are classless and do go around shouting expletives at the top of their lungs. So poverty or wealth has nothing to do with this. This was just me being loud and irrational and now I have to find a way to put it behind me and move on.