Title: Don't mind me... I'm merely going mad
Music du jour: Jars of Clay, Jars of Clay
Welp, my parents get here day after tomorrow. They're visiting for the weekend.
So are Ian's parents.
I am about to have an anxiety attack.
Okay, okay, it's not that bad. Yet.
Sorry, okay, sorry. I'm calming down now. Really. *deep breaths* I am cool. I am collected. I am... going to tear my hair out. Argh!
Any of you who have ever been out on your own for a while and then gotten The Parental Visit can probably relate to this. You can be pulling down six figures, have a wonderful career, the ideal house, the utterly perfect family... but when your parents come to town, you're their child again, and it's like you're twelve all over again. I'm suddenly seeing my house -- hell, my LIFE -- through my mother's eyes. Is the floor by the stairs clean of the dog hair? Is my laundry clean and put away? Does this paint really go with this carpet in the upstairs bedroom? Are the books on my bookshelves in the living room acceptable to my parents without them freaking out? Gah.
Most parents will forever think of their children as being, well, children. And this is fine. The problem is mostly me, I think. I'm neurotic as hell about dealing with my folks. There's so much in my life that they don't know about, either because of the physical distance between us (1200 miles) or because I have chosen not to tell them. There's a lot in my life they would neither understand nor approve of -- not that it should matter, right? I'm twenty-six and have a life of my own, so what does it matter what my mother thinks, ferchrissakes?
Somehow, it just does.
In addition to my own parental anxiety, Ian's dad and stepmom are coming to visit this weekend as well. IN-LAWS! AHHHH! *hyperventilate* Okay, I'm fine. Ian's parents are cool; don't get my wrong. His stepmom is a very nice person and his dad is actually fun to hang out with. Ian is friends with his parents and his stepmom, which is SUCH a foreign concept to me, I can't even begin to tell you. My parents aren't my friends... they're... well, they're my parents. The idea of being friends with your parents is not something I can really wrap my head around, possibly because every time I see them I feel like a little kid again. There isn't equal footing between us yet. Anyway... dealing with my own parental units is going to be interesting enough, especially since there's inevitably some weird family argument most times we get together. Adding in-laws to the mix is going to make for a stressed-to-hell Marcie.
I think I'm making too much of this. Yeah. That's it. Am I being silly? Probably. Still... having to pretend I'm the good little housewife for a weekend is going to suck. My family is very conservative, and I am NOT a run-of-the-mill wifey, by any stretch of the imagination. I like women too much. Mom would not approve.
Oh, well. I'm going to quit rambling on this entry and go get some work done. What a concept. :) Gotta get out of here early tonight; the boss' boss is going back to Europe and my department is drinking^H^H^H^H^H^H^Hcelebrating together at a brewpub in Boulder at 6:30. Wewp. Later.
-- marcie.