I’ve been slightly cross these past couple of weeks.   The first week I could blame it on the suspicion that I might be getting sick (you would think, after all these years, I would clue in to the fact that when I get a severe mood swing during the day – giddy mania one moment, sullen seething navel-gazing the next – typically means I’m about to get a cold.  I’m not exactly the best sick person ever.  It’s like I resent my body for not working properly).

This week… I don’t really have an excuse.

Although, there’s been some change, and even though I like a bit of adventure, I find I don’t really like change.

Namely, I’ve started a small group for my girls.

Well, girl.  Just one.  For the moment.

Which means I’ve actually had tidy up the cave I call my apartment and be hospitable.

I’m deeply envious of those folks who are the perfect hostesses.  Because I am not one.  My space is sacred, and I don’t share very well.

But it’s good for me to let other people into my apartment (and by extension, my world).  Right?  Right?

Right.

I do like the fact I will have a reason to keep things clean and tidy every week (instead of letting the books and papers and clothes pile up, as is their wont.  Creative?  You betcha.  Organized? Hah).

My apartment has never felt so spacious.

It’s a relief, honestly.  Since I’d grown accustomed to my clutter, I didn’t fully realize that my surroundings easily influence my mood.  But now that I’m not hiding behind my messy piles of papers and books (really, I don’t know how I accumulate all these things – it’s like they just grow on their own accord), I find I’m more relaxed and not as stressed out – no doubt because before I’d be overwhelmed by the chaos, but because I was overwhelmed, I wouldn’t know where to start in fixing it, and hello, vicious cycle.

But my apartment has been clean’n’tidy (aka presentable to the outside world) for a week.  So you’d think I’d get over this crazy mood, right?

Wrong.

I was describing it to one of the ladies last night (I’m beginning to realize I’m falling into the bad habit of talking before I think.  On one hand, this is good – because I’m apt to spend too much time thinking.  But on the other – no one likes a babbler).  Apparently I feel that I’m falling back in the routine of pleasing everyone, and I’m fed up.  I just can’t do it anymore.

And you know what?

I can’t.

I mean, I really can’t.  I can’t even try.

And I think that’s the problem.

I want to be a people-pleaser.  Very much so.  Disharmony hurts me – I mean, really, truly, hurts me.  A physical reaction.

Yet I can’t.  My attempt to shed pretense has been successful.  I’m no longer able to disappear into the shapeless blob I used to be, hiding my personality for fear I’d be wrong.

So you would think I’d be pleased.

Instead I’m cranky and grumpy and cross and completely devoid of patience.

Even worse, I’m finding out that next on the list of things to tackle are relationships.

At the moment, I like being alone and disconnected.

Which is maybe why I’m cross.  Because as I mentioned earlier, I’m not very good at letting people into my world.  I have a few fairly close friendships – that’s all I really need.  I love my family, but I’m comfortable not seeing them or hearing from them every week.

I’m excellent at independence and solitude.  That is my domain.

But it’s not what is best for me.

Last year was shedding pretense.  This year, it looks like cultivating real, solid, deep relationships.

It’s hard to make friends when you’re grumpy with the world.