The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

Last minute decisions

"Invalid Entry" 

I seem to function by virtue of last minute decisions. It is my way, a bit of masochism that I've never understood about myself, one which has me take a minute or two beyond a deadline before I actually get around to business. If I were playing a game of chicken on tractors, I'd collide with my opponent if they were as dumb as I am when it comes to arriving at a decision. Either I win, or I explode before rolling into a ditch, taking a lot of people down with me.

But, I am an anticipatory person, the kind of person whose anxiety spikes in a situation where I have to plan. You have anticipatory anxiety, Jo, the therapist deduced. She's so smart. I'm probably her biggest challenge. The thing is, I'd already known this. I am the person you have to ask out a minute before you want to go. If you give me too much time to consider, I usually come up with a reason why I can't, which is likely imaginary. This is why it has taken me a year to start moving in the direction of working again. I've always been a hard worker, always been highly dependable, but to have to plan an actual strategy and then implement it has just about paralyzed me. It makes me mad, actually, and I immediately start mentally flagellating M. for not being a better 'provider', which is very 1950's Cold War housewife of me. I don't tell him this, though. He wouldn't be pleased to know that the woman he regards as 'take charge' and ' no nonsense' is basically just a liar. I would love to be taken care of. There, I said it. The problem is that I don't believe this is really who I am. I know it's just the fear talking. It's louder than you might think.

At the same time, I resent coddling, so I guess I'm frustrating to anyone who knows me. I will cry, I will cower and as soon as you pat my head and tell me I don't have to (fill in the blank), I usually go about my business like nothing happened. See? Frustrating. The problem lies in the failure of most people I know to actually console me when I need it the most. I hate that I need it, but I'm human. The problem is that I refuse to ask for it, so, if I have something to plan for, and he doesn't acknowledge the horror I'm feeling about it, I simply don't do it. I tell myself I have loads of time, and when the deadline for whatever it is passes, I hate myself for days, sometimes weeks. It makes no bloody sense.

With this contest I haven't done any planning. I don't usually think about what leading entry I will give until the day of, and as one might note, I tend to post that late and rarely journal about anything else on the same day. In a way, I guess this negates my statement that I don't write for others because obviously I take care to add an entry which might be more widely received, but, this is the exception, not the norm. Like Acme wrote that she doesn't want to get 'down and personal' or 'provoke controversy', I find that I am conscious of being respectful when I write too. Like this past bonus challenge in which we were given permission to write authentically, as in, no real restrictions, and that we could write about whatever we wanted. I did think about it quite a bit before writing, only because I wanted to make sure I understood the direction properly. Yeah, some saw it as a way to unleash all the miserable thoughts they'd had in their head about whomever or whatever, but for me, it was clear that it was up to us what we wanted to write about without regard for anyone else. So, I wrote about what I felt like writing about, and I essentially rejected the notion that the only thing I should have been writing about was something pointedly rude or mean. The direction was clear: write a Leading entry that you simply want to write. So, I did. Frankly, I wondered if it would upset all the bipolars out there, because I insinuated that they likely aren't bipolar at all, just misdiagnosed and perhaps even lazy, but no one appeared to be offended. I'm kind of glad they weren't, though. I don't get off on wreaking havoc. I just wrote about what I was thinking because I was literally floored by all the people who seem to think they have mental illness and I just don't buy it. My journal, my opinion, end of story.

I wrote a while back about a woman who has a son in my wee one's class, and how I emailed (I'm such a phone-coward) her to see if she was up for coffee and she hadn't returned a reply? I was annoyed at first, but then I decided not to let it get to me, even though I still felt mildly rejected. Turns out she was in Florida for a week. She emailed me back and told me I should register for that computer class she suggested, and that yeah, coffee sounds good. So, without thinking, I called the teacher to register because I knew if I waited I wouldn't do it. His machine picked up. I left a message. He still hasn't called back. Class begins Friday, I think. Let's just say I really, really wish he'd picked up. I may not have the nerve tomorrow, and let's be honest, the last few days have sucked giant donkey balls in the anxiety department. I've also been fiddling with the idea of taking a class called 'Poetry Blitz' at the local college. I say 'fiddle' because it's been turning over and over in my head for weeks and I haven't gotten much further than fantasizing about it. It's probably too late, though.

Curiously, I never have to plan for self-castigation.

P.S-absolutely loathe this white screen. It is glaring at me, looking sick and frail.