When I was a kid, I got a glass of water, drank it, and put the cup back in the cupboard. It just had water in it, and I was young enough to not know about germs and invisible ickies. My cousin, however, was quite old enough. He also had a severe case of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. After he saw me do this, he was triggered into an episode of hyper-obsession. He washed his hands until they bled. He washed the dishes several times each before considering them “clean”.
I just want to thank the people in my life who love me. It’s not always easy to love someone. It’s not always easy to love someone who’s made a lot of mistakes in life. I’ve said and done some stupid things, and I’ve been hurt by people I thought I could count on. It goes both ways. I finally got sick of my own shit about eight years ago. I was tired of being a little flaky. I was tired of not being anyone’s best friend. I set out to make changes.
I was a bit of a mess after reading Wil Wheaton’s latest post Tears in Rain. It made me cry, then it made me sad, and then it made me happy. And then I cried some more, because reasons. After I regained my composure, I went back to my emails, because in those vast caverns of private conversation, I have some really great stuff from you guys who are too shy to share publicly.
It’s that time of year again. I go to the store, look for some Halloween stuff. And motherfucker, wouldn’t you know, in the week between back-to-school sales and today, Christmas invaded EVERYTHING.
For the last few days, I’ve been running around with headphones half-on. It has caused a bit of confusion around my house. Normally, headphones mean I’m working. Headphones + typing = don’t interrupt. Problem is, I’m wearing my wireless headphones in order to listen to music non-stop. This isn’t because I’m ignoring people, or trying to say I’m busy. It’s because I’m anxious.
Having music run in the background is one of the most effective tools I have to address my anxiety. It takes a track or two of my brain, and gives them something to do. It’s a necessary reduction in ancillary analytical thinking. It doesn’t keep me from working well. When I need to focus, I just tune out. When I open the door for more abstract thinking (read: anxiety), I tune back in, so that my brain is engaged again.
This has caused me to break out my many mix discs from high school. The hottest chick in the high school was my girlfriend, and she made awesome country mix CDs, and I still have all four that she gave me. I’ve been listening to them while I work and it’s been awesome. Country music feeds my soul. Music in general is awesome. Thinking about someone who cared about me a lot, when few people did so? Even more nostalgic awesome.
I’m not trying to ditch the world. I’m trying to ditch my anxiety. Now I’ve gotta convince my family that I’m not ignoring them, when I have no fucking clue what’s going on. It can be quite a barrier to have sound in your ears non-stop. I get it. I’m still not ignoring anyone. That’s why the headphones are only “half” on my ears. I can still hear. You just have to say my name.
Shit. I suddenly feel the need to fix my ‘do. I need to color coordinate my hair and clothes to every room in the house. Not sure why? Ask the best Child in the world, Destiny’s:
Guys. Seriously. I have a problem. I play with LEGO products, and I’m no good at keeping track of pieces. I’m reviewing some books from No Starch Press with LEGO directions and inspiration, and there are bricks all over the place.
Kids, cats, a spouse, and fingers that shake a little too often add up to be a huge mess, and lots of hurt feet. But I get to do it for work, which is awesome. It just takes a lot of time.
The worst part, though, is that LEGO bricks make me think I’m going insane. I count the pieces out. I separate them into piles, and stack them nicely, and follow the directions. And I’m missing a piece. A specific piece. I know I got the damned thing out, because I had to disassemble something else to get it! Just gone. I asked the Girl to help me look for it. We searched the table, all the piles, the floor, the cat tree (just in case), and then gave up.
I only have one of that piece, so it’s worth starting the search over. I go back to the thing I took apart, and there it is. Still attached to the unit. Still there, because I never took it off. I swear I took it out, but no. I’m wrong. My brain is faulty. Mfhsdifhr.
It feels like a big deal, so right now, I’m taking a break. I’m counting the number of people disturbed by me losing this piece. It’s just me. My daughter thought it was funny, but kindly tried her best to not laugh at me. She likes digging through my LEGO bricks anyway. I go out of my way to get weird ones that she’s never used, and she likes to put them together in new ways with me.
So, no harm done. My pride got a tiny bruise. But I got some serious happy out of work! Go life! Go working at home!
Go back to bed, before I use too many exclamation marks!
Or go back to work. That’s okay, too. After all, this time it’s minifigs.
I do this thing when I’m bored, or a bird flies by, or someone clicks on their mouse a bunch of times, or… I just did it with my own post. I get bored, my mind drifts, and then I’m shocked into this moment of, “WTF just happened?!” It’d by okay if I were even moderately talented at covering it up. I’m really bad at that.
I sometimes end up commenting on a part of the conversation that has long since passed, or (worse), someone asks me a question, and I’ve got no idea what’s going on. Jenny, who really pays attention, can see it. I’m lost. I’ve no idea what people are talking about, and I’ve no good excuses. This is terrible peopling, mostly because people think I’m being rude.
Unfortunately, most of the problem is anxiety. Getting bored, no anxiety involved, I can keep up, no problem. Bored+Anxious=Fucked. My brain goes on these crazy field trips with the part of my brain that should be hanging out with the group. I end up analyzing all the wrong things.
It’s like going onto Wikipedia when you’re bored. Productivity? Gone. Bedtime? Fucked. Sleep on the night before a big interview? Bitch, please. You’re going to spend a ridiculous number of hours in the world’s most attractive rabbit hole. You’re never coming back.
That shit happens when I’m talking to people! Like, while words are coming out of my mouth!!
It’s a fucking mess.
I’m just going to use this excuse for the day: “Excuse me, my brain is on a safari. Can you call back later?”
Too bad I have to see my psychiatrist today… For the first time since George left… Right before my birthday… I need some better excuses, ’cause I’m already running out of fucks.