There was a crazy lady in my laundry room the other day. She was yelling and frantically moving about the small space. She pushed past my husband and shoved him against the wall, then proceeded to take our soaking wet clothes out of the washing machine while mumbling angry words under her breath.
It was quite the spectacle.
My husband made a quick exit and I stood there, trying to process what had just happened.
I had gone in the laundry room.
I had filled the machine with dirty clothes and pressed the start button.
As water slowly filled the tub, I had noticed a leak under the washing machine.
I had called my husband.
He had come immediately, and had quickly assessed where the problem was coming from.
He had started to unload the soapy clothes.
He had said something.
That’s when it gets fuzzy… I don’t remember what he said… but that’s when the crazy lady showed up, made a scene and left us all bewildered.
You see, the crazy lady used to be a regular at our house but it had been so long since her last visit we were all quite shocked by her reappearance.
You see nobody here cares much for the crazy lady…
You see… I was the crazy lady!
I had made such improvements regulating my moods that I truly believed she was a goner. I guess I was wrong. She and I cohabit the same body with great difficulties. She’s in there somewhere and my job is to keep her fed, rested and hormonally balanced with proper nutrition and exercise. My job is to make her feel safe and secure. My job is to give her space and time alone so she can process her thoughts and emotions and de-charge.
When I do all of that, the crazy lady is so quiet, I barely know she’s there but the laundry room incident shows that I need to remain aware and vigilant.
Thankfully, nowadays, I am able to put her back in her place fast.
Thankfully, my husband is tolerant and understanding and doesn’t begrudge me her presence and occasional disruptive outbursts (so long as they remain occasional).
Thankfully, my daughter sees the humor in the existence of the crazy lady.
The laundry incident was resolved within half an hour by me sheepishly going over to hubby with my tail between my legs and saying I’m sorry and him welcoming me back with open arms. Our daughter completed the family hug and we all had a good laugh reenacting some of the crazy lady’s best antics of the day. The clothes got cleaned, courtesy of our neighbor.
All’s well that ends well.
Next week’s essay is titled “Pollyanna”. Subscribe using the widget below if you’d like to be notified when it gets published. Thank you for reading.