This is my spot for personal reflection. It won't always be exciting. My life is pretty dull actually. If you are looking for something exciting please check my tabs (above). This section is my journal, boring and raw as it is. It might not be what you're expecting, but I'm unashamed.
"Virtue is not the absence of vices or the avoidance of moral dangers; virtue is a vivid and separate thing, like pain or a particular smell.”
~ G.K. Chesterton
October 29th, 2012 3:30 PM
I have a crazy pet peeve. It can throw my day into turmoil so quickly and it is actually sort of humorous that I let it bother me to such a huge degree.
Here's how it starts: I take a bath, a long hot bubble bath. I wash and condition my hair,shave my legs, and even use a face mask. I feel beautiful as I drain the water and grab a towel to dry off. Then it happens. I wipe the towel across my face to gather the string of drops sliding down my forehead and smell something that is not appealing. Maybe it's a soggy smell like a towel that wasn't hung up in time. Sometimes it smells like sweat, body odor or something so bad I won't describe it. The whole towel smells of it and the scent grows every second. The thing is I know it was a clean towel as recent as last night and since I haven't used my towel I know someone else has. Now the smell is overwhelming. I smell it on my skin and that smell floats all the way into my brain. It's everywhere and I just want to grab a new towel and start another bath. I feel dirty and I would start the whole process over except that my four little intruders would be cheated out of a Mom's uncompromised attention for far too long. Honestly I'm lucky I had moderate privacy for as long as I have. Wanting a redo would just be greedy.
I put on lotion, but instead of getting rid of the odor I compound it. I get dressed trying to ignore the smell. I can't ignore the smell. Suddenly everything smells. My lipstick smells like tinned clay. My clothes smell like musty lint. The toothpaste smells like a broken candy cane.
I leave the bathroom and walk past the kitty litter box that the cat just left a fresh deposit in.
I want to scream. This time, just before I give in to an explosion of emotion on my unsuspecting family, I think of my son with Sensory Processing Disorder. My senses are completed overloaded. Is this how it feels?
I make a cup of hot cinnamon tea and sip it slowly, pulling in the aroma with each breath. I light some candles that my great grandpa made in my grandparent's basement a quarter of a century ago, only it feels like it just happened and the spicy scents mix into memories and sooth my nerves.
That's how I handled it this time anyway. Usually, I gripe.