 |
2006-07-11 @ 5:11 p.m. |
It was good to have �A� back from vacation today. We talked about the Hacker Guy. I didn�t feel like he totally understood my anxiety about the whole thing. A lot of things get blamed on my illness and �being crazy� like I so totally am...evidently. I will take credit for my anxiety about certain things. But they were completely borne out of a childhood full of uncertainties, of which I�m trying to recuperate. Honest. Why else would I be in therapy for 30 years? I mean I like to compare my anxiety problem to a person who touched a lit stove when they were a kid. Do they want to do it again? Not usually. So trying to shrug it off like it doesn�t exist is not really possible. Because how am I going to know if that 23rd stove at the Consumer Report Kitchen for Anxiety Studies is really going to burn me or not? Or whether the person running the place is really just pulling my leg, to see if I�m willing to take a chance. I mean, look at who�s running the place...  Would you trust this guy? But at least I was able to get some of my angst out in a somewhat constructive way with �A� today. No buildings were torn down. No nuclear warheads were detonated. I�m glad he�s back, although, hey witty, what was up with the anxiety about bringing in the artwork for his office. I had told him before his vacation that I would bring in several of my paintings for him to choose from to put up in his office for clients to look at and possibly (fingers crossed) buy. And he said, �Fine! No problem.� But this morning as I was getting ready, I got all cold-footy and couldn�t do it. Gah! What an idiot. I know he likes my work. He�s always very complimentary and encouraging. But then when it came right down to carrying in several pieces, I just couldn�t do it. Performance anxiety? Should be cue Mel Brook�s singing �High Anxiety� maybe? I did bring in my little painting of the blue heron. He liked that. I had that same anxiety thing going on with my children�s book too. Its just sitting in my drawer. And about six months ago, I let a bunch of people at work read it and they were all screaming, �Send it out! Get it published!� I think what I really need is for someone to come into my house, strap my arms and legs down, get out all my creative stuff (paintings, writing and books) and go through everything, select the best and then just send them all out to the appropriate venues, who might possibly buy them and then send me large checks. Of course in the meantime, I would be crying and pleading, �No please don�t make me successful. I can�t be successful. No! No! Please stop! What? You want to marry me too?� Can you tell I�m having a low self esteem day? Yes? How very observant of you. I can certainly dish out encouragement at work in our various support groups. I just can�t take my own advice. Ever. Its the law. I have been walking a lot to cope with my anxiety lately. How much? About 14 miles a week. See �A�, being bipolar is good for something. I�ve lost 11 pounds since about May. My coworker �J� has been telling me about this device he�s been wearing that measures how many steps you take a day. Supposedly if you take 10,000 steps a day, you can lose a bunch of weight. �J�, now, is always updating me on how many steps he's taken up to the precise minute he stops in front of me and opens his mouth. He take his little counting thingie off and proudly announces, �I�ve taken 1,013 steps so far today!� And then yesterday he told me, he thought that 1,000 steps equalled a mile. I was a little iffy on that, but I just nodded my head encouragingly, since I think its great when a smoker gets out and exercises. So last night, out of boredom when I was out on my walk, I decided to start counting my steps. I�m kinda OCD anyways and thought, what the hell, counting how many steps I take on my nightly walks shouldn�t be a biggie. 2 miles....2000 steps! I can do it! So I was out by Hamburger Island when I finally started counting my steps. I started a little late. I�ve really ratcheted up my speed in recent weeks, since I really want to burn some calories and figured if I�m a little out of breath, I�m probably burning off some of those cookies I ate earlier in the day. So I started counting.... 1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10...11...and you know what? I took 1000 steps in about 2 blocks. Which is to say, probably only about 1/4 mile tops. So �J�....I don�t think 1000 steps equals a mile, unless you�re some long legged gazelle leaping over the plains of Mozambique. But keep walking. It is good for you. And lastly, today when I got home from �A�s appointment and some Chinese food at the yuppie grocery store, I was sitting at my computer looking at diaries (You might want to zip over to Kungfukitten and wish her a Happy Birthday. She has a really hilarious video unfurling for the event). Anyways, suddenly I hear somebody trying to open my screen door and then a timid knock. I yelled out �Who is it?� since I live at Whack-o Central and I hear this faint....�Its Harold the Geek!� So I opened the door and there he�s standing, in full safari apparel with HIS red whistle flying akimbo. He had a black string in his hand which he handed me. He told me it was for the whistle he had given me last week. Its a detachable break-a-string for the whistle....�in case a perpetrator tries to strangle you with it.� And then he demonstrated it. As in...Strangle, strangle, strangle. Snap! The string holding my security whistle just snaps loose and then I can run screaming to....I don�t know....a secure location, I guess where Anyways, he then ran off once again, saying he had contractors coming to his house. Contractors? Maybe he�s adding a room for all his new Safety Intervention Devices. You never know. Older Entries |
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty |
>