The Best Kind of Vomit

To word vomit is to commit an act of self sabotage. Anything that you would think first before saying is not what comes out of your mouth while word vomiting. All I want to do is word vomit. 133dd9de7c4dd0c590d9564e0f44d10b

Lately I see a lot of 1. Disputes on Police Work 2. Presidential Nonsense 3. Black Lives Matter and 4. LDS women talking about how they are being made unequal to men and should therefore have every single thing changed about the programs and groups that they participate in. Why? Because what we have isn’t enough? It isn’t progressive? Or do you really just need another thing to argue about. I am struggling as it is to accomplish everything I want to and understand how the organizations already work so….Let’s just not make me feel more inadequate shall we?

What do I mean by that? I am married to someone who works in law enforcement and I get royally screwed on the availability of my husband because he’s at work keeping pieces of crap safe from each other and keeping society safe from them. When people comment on the lack of professionalism shown by any type of officer it irritates me to the core…It makes me feel like my offering and sacrifice just isn’t quite enough.

Can I just decide that I hate all the candidates, don’t totally understand how electoral votes work and ask that Elizabeth McCord’s character from Madam Secretary become the President of The United States?

Black Lives Matter…All lives matter. Every single life. So let’s just stop saying that hatred needs to not exist and inequality needs to take a hike because the Black Lives Matter movement is only making more of a gap between races. People are individuals who make individual choices. Lumping all officers or all black people or all of anything into one group and putting on a label just shouldn’t happen.

I spent some time last night reading an article that was referencing another article where a poll was taken by women only. They were asked questions like “Should the names of the Young Women groups be changed?”. Meaning Beehives, Mai Maids and Laurels are out and things like Priestesses, Emeralds or Fledglings would be in. Gag. I am gagging. Also “Should the Mission President’s wife be given a title other than Mission President’s wife?” Solutions like Presidentress were given. Gag. Gag me again.

As a woman I would like to be able to say, This is my husband, I am his and he is mine. Being his doesn’t make me any less…It doesn’t mean he owns me. It means that I find that through our relationship I can learn and grow in ways that I couldn’t on my own. I enjoy splitting jobs based on gender. I enjoy not holding the priesthood. But here’s the real problem. I’m here spouting off about things that bug me when what’s really bothering me is that I couldn’t find any pants this morning.

If you’re still reading, you’re probably wondering what insane cocktail of anti-depressants I’ve been downing lately.

I like to call this version of Arin a mix of Viibryd, lack of sleep, feeling inadequate at her job, stressing over money, feeling too fat/ugly/tired to do anything, and mounds of dirty laundry. You know. The good old “Saturday Blues”.

I woke up this morning to my Dad’s dog (we’re dog sitting) licking and pawing at my hand while Oliver was outside howling at who know’s in our backyard while Carmen precariously stood in her crate trying not to step in pee (she never pees in her crate). Then a knock on the front door. My new short hair cut is all over the place, which reminds me that I’m still not sure how I feel about my newly chopped locks and I suddenly realize that I really need to put on some pants so I can see who is there.

5 Minutes later I’ve mentally referred to myself as being fat because looking through my closet for pants helps me to realize that every ounce of clean lower half clothes don’t fit, so now I’m looking back over my week berating myself for not working out at all and eating too many bowls of Fruit Loops. Then my hand brushes my face where I feel a nice fresh zit. I’m 25. Why. Why do I need to have a zit today. I find pants. Ugly terry cloth pants, but pants and thank goodness they have a stretchy waist.

Bra…Now I need a bra. I find one. It’s on the floor. Now I’m asking myself why I haven’t done a lick of laundry this week. Maybe you would be better at your job if you remembered to wash your scrubs before the week started…or maybe you would be better at it if you had more self confidence. Fruit loops. It was because I had too many Fruit loops. I put on the bra. The center piece of fabric that holds the boob cups together is torn on one side. Now I’m asking myself how I could have used our money more wisely these past two weeks. You should have cooked at home more, that would have saved money. You would also probably be thinner if you did that. Remember all those healthy recipes you have that you say you want to make, but you never will because you won’t actually want to eat them. It’s because you have no self motivation. You don’t have dedication. That’s why you don’t cook at home. That’s why you don’t exercise. And that’s why you don’t have enough money to go buy a new bra.

Ollie is still barking.

I look into our back yard and see some of the men from our neighborhood. They’re waving to me. How creepy and confused do you think I look? I’m physically holding Madi and Carmen so that they won’t rush out the door while I try coaxing Oliver back inside. He isn’t having it. I still don’t have on shoes so….Nah, I just won’t get shoes. I already look homeless (oh, and it’s like 11:00. I should have been up hours ago). I lock the doggy door and go through the side door and out into the back yard. One of the men asks if “This is all I need them to take.” I smile and say “Sure is!” then make small talk and then walk inside where I try to call my husband who is working an overtime shift. I have a text message from our Bishop letting me know that they are at our house and “Which tree do I want cut down.” David and I talked about cutting one down in the past and I’m really struggling to recall how the Bishop knows this. I’m touched that there are all these men and boys here, at my house, willing to help me with things even though I have no idea why they are here. There are so many things that I want to get done. I have a long list of projects and I swear it never ends.

I call David and wait for the operator to connect me to him…I can’t tell if the guy hung up on me. He was having a hard time hearing our last name. “H-A-S-L-A-M, Yes, this is his wife. Arin.” “Yep, my name is Darin.” Telling people  my name over the phone always ends up being weird. I’ve just learned to accept it. Today I guess I’m Darin. I can’t hear anything on the other end of the line so I hang up and call again. I get a different clerk on the other end of the line and she asks if I just called. Turns out David isn’t in the area of the jail that I thought he was in. Now I’m telling myself that this is a sign of how great our communication isn’t sometimes and I’m fueling my fire of “I need to spend more time with my husband.” when I hear a male voice say “Your call has been transferred, we are connecting you.” That’s not the operator speaking, it’s the other officer in the unit being funny, but I’m so not in the mood for funny. Now rather than feeling inadequate I’m just angry. So when David answers I’m all over him for not telling me about the guys coming over to help with the yard and I’m saying how awkward I felt and that I didn’t know what was going on and one of the dogs pooped in the house and it smelled. I’m just complaining. And I’m blaming David. I’m being unfair. And I hear him say “I’m sorry, I completely forgot. It’s not your fault that you didn’t know what was going on. I will be home in a couple hours. I love you.”

I am so blessed. I am so lucky. I am so grateful that I have a husband who takes the blame to soften the anxiety of the situation when he easily could have gotten frustrated with me for only calling out of frustration with my list of complaints.

I spent the morning stressing about legitimate things, weight, the health of my skin, communication, only having $11 in our bank account,

How I feel…Like ALL the time.

the list of things that I need to accomplish….but my problem is that I turned them into personal attacks on my lack. Why can I not say “Money is tight this month, here is how we are going to deal with it.” Rather than “You suck as a human and can’t manage money.” Are my feelings of inadequacy also self sabotage?

Yes it has been a stressful week. Yes there are things that we are lacking that would be helpful. But in no way should the fact that someone’s dog ate our blinds, that Carmen had to go to the vet for a dog bite, or my lack of clean pants mean that I should spend my time mentally degrading myself.

Marriage is teaching me a lot and today. I guess I am going to have to learn how to quiet my insecurities and accept my own short comings.

Here is my final thought. Then I will ad8ee4f749e9df8624615bcea8b2ef45quit word vomiting.

– Arin


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