Breathe in, breathe out

Bear with me while I remind myself to observe basic bodily functions. I forget the simplest things when I'm in the throes of nerves.

Oh, enough already, Erica. Yeah, I can hear people thinking that. What's with you and your freaking nervousness? You've done these parties for years and years. You have friends there. You know you'll have fun. You'll get incredible spankings and lots of hugs and all the attention your little inner narcissist could possibly want. What's with you?

Well, here's the deal. Part of it is all the standard insecurities and worries and anxieties we've discussed ad nauseam (and yes, it's nauseam, not nauseum). But another part of it is a result of my own wiring.

Most of you know this, I think -- along with depression, I also have mild OCD. Some people hear that term and instantly think of compulsive hand-washing and checking lights and jiggling doorknobs over and over to make sure they're locked, but those aren't necessarily the manifestations. The evidence of my OCD is in my need for routine and predictability. For some, unexpected occurrences are exciting. For others, they are mildly annoying. For me, they can be panic-inducing.

I derive tremendous comfort from familiarity and daily routines. Each day has its own particular basic order, with some variation but not a whole lot. I know what I'm going to eat, when I'm going to the gym, when I'm doing certain chores, what I'm going to buy each week at the market. J and I talk on the phone at the same time every evening. On Fridays, I know I'm going to pack up my bag and go to his house, and when I get there, we'll go to dinner. You get the picture. For some, this type of life would be excruciating. For me, it's essential to my well being. One of the reasons why J gets me so completely is that he has a bit of this himself; he has his own rituals. For example, when we get up, we must make the bed before doing anything else. If I help him with laundry and I hang or fold things, he'll end up redoing what I've done because I didn't do it just so.

Of course, life is rarely predictable. The unexpected happens at any given moment. And if you have any sort of life at all, you sometimes have plans that disrupt your routines. I love love love the party weekends. But let's face it -- they take my normal Friday-Monday and throw them in a blender. Nothing is the same -- my schedule, my location, my food, my sleep, my amount of interactions with others, what I wear, blah blah blah. It's kind of like being catapulted into another life for a few days.

Bottom line -- even when it's for something fun, something I love with all my heart, it's still anxiety-inducing because it's different. Couple that with the other normal party anxieties, and it's a wonder that I have any kind of sanity left. Yes, folks, I am a loony toon.

So when these nerves hit, my mind works overtime and I start my horrible-izing about all the disasters that could keep us from getting there, or prevent us from having fun once we get there. There will be a terrible accident on the highway that will keep us stranded for hours and hours. One of us will get sick or hurt. There will be a family emergency. Actually, these things have happened. One year, we did get stuck in a SigAlert on the 15. Another time, J had a bad bike accident and shattered his collarbone one week before the party. I've gotten raging colds right before the party. And yet, we always made it.

How freaking STUPID is all this?? I'm laughing at myself as I sit here picking at the cuticle on my thumb. Look up "basket case" on Wikipedia and there's my picture.

So what do I do? I remind myself to breathe. I put one foot in front of the other, do what I need to do each day, check things off my list. I write about it and invite the blogosphere to laugh with me over how nucking futs I am. And I show up where I'm supposed to show up. The rest is out of my hands.

I'll shut up now. I haven't drawn a breath for the past five minutes and my fingertips are turning blue.