I Am Sick of Life

The boy jumped on my bed this morning and messed it up. He was about to leave the room when I ordered him back to straighten the sheets back neatly just the way I made it. I am becoming more like my mother. I have never seen her leave her bed unmade, even on days when she was sick. I am not physically sick. But when I feel unwell emotionally and feel I don't have a handle on this thing called life, all the more I feel I need to control the small things on the outside. I become fastidious to the highest degree. Even a shoe at the doorway slightly out of line with the other shoe makes me upset.

I can't control people and circumstances. What I can control are things and how I feel about them. They don't answer back. They don't whine about their place in the world. Best of all, they don't have feelings I have to take care of.