Kristy Kelly: I’m not financially stable enough for a felony
I used to think mental illness was the defining factor of the chaos in my life, but I was wrong. No amount of crazy has prepared me for perimenopause. Even my chaos-thriving self is side-eyeing the me who nearly burned it all down over a vacuum mishap.
ADHD and low impulse control usually mean I have a very limited window of time to tell myself no when I get a wild idea that I desperately need something on Amazon to change my life. I have cameras that were going to make me a video podcasting star, microphones for audio podcasts that would make me famous, or audiobooks that would sell by the millions. My latest must-have was a robot vacuum. I’m pretty sure I’ve been trying to buy my way to success on a shoestring budget—with absolutely no follow-through.
There’s a weird tension in the air, fueling an entire narrative in my brain where I’m somehow the villain in a story I don’t remember writing. A passing comment, a sideways glance—suddenly, I’m spiraling through a dozen imaginary offenses I might have committed. It’s like my brain is playing a game of Clue, except the murder weapon is my own overthinking. I replay conversations, analyze tones, and convince myself that something is off, and I am to blame.
Hyper-vigilance and an empathetic nature ensure I’m constantly in tune with the world around me, but sometimes, it’s exhausting trying to read a room that doesn’t match the narrative in my head.
At home in my office one evening I wanted to forget the rest of the world existed and sit in the dark for a few hours. The comical part? I genuinely expected that to happen.
I’m sitting in my office, shades drawn, curtains closed, light off. I lean back in my oversized executive chair—so large my feet dangle even on the lowest setting—and finally close my eyes with a deeply satisfying sigh to release the tension reverberating through my body.
Only to hear: “Wipe cliff sensor and move vacuum to level ground.”
The yelp I let out was enough to wake my sleeping adult sons at 3:00 p.m., along with two obnoxious dogs, who suddenly needed an immeasurable amount of immediate love and attention. It’s hard to get mad at dogs for just wanting to be loved, but in that moment, I could have happily blasted all of them into another dimension just to extend my eight seconds of peace.
In the process of fixing the vacuum, I stepped on the world’s tiniest sliver of glass—so deeply embedded in my calloused heel, it was never to be seen again, only felt every tenth step. As an added bonus, when I rocked from stepping on said glass, my son strolled in to inform me that the vacuum was in my office because he broke a glass and I should wear shoes.
Without a word, I got up, closed my office door, grabbed my car keys, and left.
I’m not financially stable enough for a felony.
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