It’s a moody Monday for me. Whether it’s first-day-of-the-week-petulance or general, cloudy-sky-blahs, I started off my week on the wrong foot.
I probably exacerbated things by switching on my iPod “Easier Favorites” playlist for the thirty-minute cruise to work. Usually those are lighter tunes that bring to mind spring afternoons or flannel pajamas. (Think Joss Stone’s “Newborn” or Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic.) But today, the trusty shuffle feature must have honed in on my peaked-out sensitivity meter and sent me every lyrically gut wrenching song I’ve purchased in the last three years. (Think Alanis Morissette’s “So Unsexy” and Diane Birch’s “Nothing But a Miracle”.)
I trudged through the parking lot and into my building with all the enthusiasm of a woman on her way to the guillotine.
Fortunately, no one was waiting with any burning matters at my desk, which let me knock back my third cup of java and kick out a rough plan to tackle the day. I worked through a few emails, took a new worker around for a general tour, and hit a few things on my to-do list.
The next thing you know? I’m surprisingly UN-morose!
So, what happened?
Well, duh, Rhenna. You let the gray matter go.
The mental sludge weighting me down poofed right into ether the minute my overly analytical brain relaxed its mental kung-fu grip.
Thank God for distraction.
Which makes me wonder, why don’t I use diversion to guide me out of my artistic fits of passion more often?
I’m smart enough to employ it where other people are concerned. Just last night, my nine year-old was sniffling like a hormonal woman watching a Steel Magnolia’s marathon. No matter what I said to comfort her, she couldn’t quite crying. So, I started drilling her on her times tables. (Yes, nine year olds do multiplication now. Sick and twisted if you ask me. What happened to recess and afternoon naps? Oh, wait! That’s what I need.)
The diversion worked like a charm. In less than three minutes she was side-stepping the verbal equations like a normal nine year-old by singing some little ditty she’d learned in school last week. Complete turnaround.
Reminder for my life’s tool chest: If I’m swimming in a moody sea, distraction can turn a life vest into yacht…or at least a dinghy…something to float me to the nearest emotional private island full of mouthwatering, primitive males. (Ooops…See how that distracted thing works?)
What about you? How do you put the three-point-turn on your bad moods? Or do you choose to ride the tide of emotion until things turn naturally?