Thursday, February 16, 2012

Where I just close my eyes and hit "publish"...

It's all in my head and then I sit down at the computer or with a blank sheet of paper in front of me and suddenly none of it is right. Suddenly I have to have something to SAY. There must be a MESSAGE behind the words. It's all very exhausting.

I can't just talk about my gray roots or that I have become obsessed (in my mind) with attempting to fill my freezer just in case of Doomsday thankyouverymuchNationalGeographicChannel. And honestly, I am not really very good at being a Doomsday Prepper and filling my freezer. Right now it is stocked with dinner rolls that I got on some fantastic sale around Christmas-time. I could fill the Post-Apocalyptic bread baskets like a hundred times. You are welcome, World.

I can't talk about the butterfly napkin holder I got at a thrift store that is sitting on my kitchen table with the sad $1 price tag still on it. I bought it with the intention of sanding it down a bit. Painting it. Making it kitschy and utterly fantastic. But I went to buy sandpaper and there are all these CHOICES. And it is really hard to look at the dude at Home Depot and say with a straight face "I'm working on a refinishing project of a 1970s-era plywood napkin holder. What would be the correct sandpaper to use to retain its rustic charm?" So now it just sits and mocks me and I am about 10 seconds from puffy-painting its ass and calling it a day.

And I can't talk about the anxiety that grips my brain so hard and so suddenly that it takes my breath away. That it makes it hard to leave the house. That making a phone call to order a pizza actually hurts. That makes it so that talking to anyone- even those I know well- becomes terrifying. That makes writing anything impossible.

Self made prisons are the most confining.

But today I actually got up and got dressed. I got up and got dressed like I do every day, but today I did it without feeling like throwing up.

I'm counting it as a win.

(Even though the Anxiety-Bitch in my head says that you all are totally making fun of my shirt behind my back.)


  1. "I'm working on a refinishing project of a 1970s-era plywood napkin holder. What would be the correct sandpaper to use to retain its rustic charm?" -- imagining you posing this question to one of the clueless orange vests at Home Depot brought a big smile to my face. As for the rest ... well-written as always but, man, I am so sorry that you are struggling. I KNOW about anxiety (more than I need to share in a blog comment). I have a relevant contact in Cincy if needed.

    Also, I can almost guarantee that no one is ever making fun of your shirt behind your back.

  2. I think the hardest part about struggling like this is that one little part of your brain that KNOWS it doesn't really make any sense to think like that. Which makes you feel even crazier.

    Thank you for saying you get it. Sometimes that is all it takes to help set it aside. For now.

  3. You are too funny to not have anything to write about. Hell, you could write 3,000 words about a napkin holder and I'd love every minute of it. I know this is an old post, but I just wanted to drop in and say I hope you're feeling better. Also: I like your shirt.