I am, typically, the sort of person who cannot stand to waste time. I don’t watch TV. I don’t lay about, I don’t do “nothing.” Frankly, I don’t really understand what doing nothing is. If I asked you what you were thinking, and you said “Nothing” I would probably spend entirely too much time trying to figure out how that’s even possible. I have never thought Nothing in my entire life.
If I were to put on my Mr. Spock hat, it might be clear that there are several excellent reasons as to why I am not being as busy and productive as I should be. Like:
1. Xanax dependence/withdrawal. Despite my desire for it to just be over already, it takes TIME. Effing, stupid, unfocused TIME. I spit on you, Xanax, and all your benzodiazapine friends.
2. Pain. Sometimes not only is pain getting me down, I am taken up with questioning the validity of my perceptions. Am I really in pain or am I making it up? Are other people also in this much pain and are they fine and it’s just me that feels like there is a shitty small dog nipping at my ankles while his creepy pink penis drags on the sidewalk? Am I really thinking about dog wieners? Gross. Pain is distracting the same way pink dog wieners (ha ha, it corrected my spelling of wIeners) are, it’s not something you want to look at, but it’s there anyway, and it hangs around. Change positions, there’s still a pink dog wiener. Walk around, it follows you. Tell it to go away and it humps your leg.
I’ve probably taken that as far as I can go with it. Thanks, dog wiener!
3. Eleventy Billion Effing Appointments. Not, like, cancer level appointments, but appointments. Monday morning is the Shrink at 9:00 am. Tuesday and Thursday mornings are PT, at 8:00 am.
I’m trying to get an appointment with the Medical Pot Doctor but she is slow to return calls (STONED MUCH?). I suppose that expecting a Pot Doctor in New Mexico to be quick would be like expecting not to get your tires slashed for having a pro-choice sticker on your car in Texas (actually I went to Texas proper last year with a pro-choice sticker on my Japanese car and nothing happened, I was disappointed–especially since someone at the UNIVERSITY where I work has twice now scraped my pro-choice sticker off my car).
And it’s not just the appointment itself, it’s the getting up on time part and getting dressed part and making sure you have your credit card or checkbook part and then going to the appointment and waiting for the appointment and then driving home and changing clothes (this is only after PT, I can still wear my Shrink clothes) and wishing there was more coffee then remembering after the fact that burned coffee isn’t worth it. An hour-long appointment….wait. None of my appointments are an hour. The Shrink is usually an hour and fifteen or 20 minutes, and PT is an hour and a half or better. Everything takes four hours (what 90s TV show am I quoting?)
4. The Appointment Aftermath. This is mostly PT. I usually don’t feel, like, great after PT. There is the issue of being seen in public in Not Pants and a tshirt that does not hang below my 44 year old butt. At home, given I’ve lost something like 18 lbs, I am a fan of the not pants and showing butt. But I have a reputation to uphold, and so there’s butt-showing+athletic clothing+same pants each time=dog help me if I see someone I know. Most importantly, though, is the fact that I am generally sore, or stiff, or depressed, or all of that when I get home from PT.
5. The Full Time Job of Things The Shrink or PT Have Given Me To Do. Stop what I’m doing and squeeze my “tummy muscles” for five minutes? Find time to tap on my face and speak aloud affirmations? Every day? EVERY. DAY. Do I do important things when I am avoiding doing those things? No, I engage in the adult version of a kid hiding in the closet to avoid the doctor’s office and play Match 3 games, but I keep up a running mental commentary of, “Wasting your life, huh? Great use of your time. You’ll really regret this when school starts again” to make sure I don’t even enjoy my escapism. A shrink talked to me about that once, btw. I know.
6. Spending the summer home with a 12 year old who has a mustache, a sense of entitlement a mile wide and foul language. I spend my time policing his bedroom for gross dishes/food cartons, shouting at him to turn off the XBox/TV/iPhone/Laptop (I am aware of the irony that I have given him all these things and am, ostensibly, In Charge). It is hard to concentrate on an online class wherein one is making a hand tailored suit jacket when one must get up every five minutes to shout something at the lazy little bastard watching YouTube fail videos and farting.
Lately I find myself doing things like just listening to music. Listening to music is something I typically do while doing something else, but nowadays I sit in a chair and listen to music. That’s it. Sometimes I play the Match 3 Heroin while listening to music, but nothing is being made or created or assembled or finished. I don’t know myself anymore.
We are also regularly watching an (old) television show with the above-mentioned stinky child. The newer Battlestar Galatica, to be exact. This usually follows the Listening To Music portion of my action-packed evening. I should just move to the retirement home now. Meanwhile my tailored jacket project languishes, and I am not the type who is allowed to start a “more fun” project while a “good learning experience” project is still underway, so, well, do you like John Prine? I love his music.
I go through these periods, and they would likely be less painful if I could just allow myself to trust that I will return to busyness soon and don’t need to beat myself with the cat of nine tails the whole time I’m not doing the things I think I should be doing, but I am always afraid that this time, I’ll never go back and be Amazing again. I should go do some Emotional Freedom Technique work with that, but…….Candy Crush.