I'll like two of those, please

Ever feel like this? And ever feel like you don't have any right to complain about it, because everyone else is dealing with their own troubles and they don't want to hear you whine?

I'm not sure what's gotten into me lately, but I'm all over the map. Could be the ongoing emotional fallout from all the weeks of worrying about John. Could be worry about John's future. Could be the onset of the holidays. Could be hormones. Maybe it's all of the above.

Today, I started out sleepy and dragging. Later, as I sat working, one of those melodramatic weepy songs came on the oldies station... and I promptly and unexpectedly burst into tears. After that, I went into my bedroom, pulled the shades and closed the door, and burrowed for an hour. When I got up, I had this crazy urge to go to the self-service yogurt bar and gorge myself silly with creamy caloric sweetness. Waited that out, thank goodness. Then I went on FetLife and saw a disgusting photo, and felt incredibly, righteously pissed off. Now I feel like I want to jump out of my skin, but I need to compose myself, because I'm not going to endear anyone in this sort of mood. And John's going to call shortly and I don't want to worry him.

Sheesh! What's it like to be an even-keeled person?

A friend on Fet suggested that perhaps I need a spanking. Well, duh. That's a given. I always need that. :-)  But it's a Band-Aid, a temporary distraction. It calms me down and centers me for a while, until the effect fades and then I'm back into bitchiness and angst. Damn -- I'm addicted! That's it! I'm suffering withdrawal this week!

OK, I'm being silly. But I wish I knew what the hell is going on with me. Last Friday, I remember feeling quite serene, like all was well with my world. Nothing has changed since then; where did that good feeling go?

And yes, I do feel like I don't have the right to grouse. Everyone I know is dealing with something or another. Everyone has pain and anxiety to some degree. Everyone has stress. So what does one do? Air and share? Shut the hell up and deal with it? Admit one's humanity, self-centerness and imperfection, one's struggles, or go do something else until the mood passes? Some people ignore their own needs and give to others... but then who gives to them? Where's the right balance?

I often use humor to deflect my struggles; I suppose that is a tool I inherited from my father. Someone recently described me as brave. I don't feel brave. I feel like a loony tune with precious little coping skills. But hey, I'm a damn funny loony tune.

I may very well regret the vulnerability and "me-ness" of this post. But sometimes, folks, this is where I am. I apologize.

So where are my pills? And can you give me enough to get me through until January 2?

Edginess

It's official -- Mother Nature has lost her mind. A week ago Monday, it hit 113 degrees in downtown Los Angeles. And it could have been higher, but we'll never know. The National Weather Service thermometer downtown, which has been keeping the temperature since 1877, broke at 1:00 p.m.

A week later? Cool, cloudy, rainy. Last night, I actually put on a bathrobe.

And by this weekend? Supposed to be back up into the 80s and 90s, and absolutely bone-dry. Blech.

For the moment, it's gray and cloudy. My window is open, and all is blissfully quiet save for the drizzle coming down and the occasional car sloshing by. My favorite kind of day. I'm still feeling some pleasant residual soreness from Monday night. Yesterday, I got the last of my dental work over with, and amazingly, my teeth aren't hurting today. I should be quite serene right now.

But I'm not. I'm edgy and nervous, feeling that free-floating anxiety that plagues me sometimes. I'm worried about J. Yes, it's stupid. He has the flu. Granted, it's a really bad flu. But he'll get better. I hope. See? There I go again. Of course he'll get better.

Yesterday was his birthday; I spoke with him last night. He sounded horrible; no better than he was last weekend. I hurt for him.

This coming weekend, we had plans. We have an annual ritual with a dear friend; each year, she gangs my birthday with J's and takes us out for dinner. We usually go back to her place afterward for coffee and birthday cake, and she fusses over us. Last year, she took us to a Groundlings show. Today, she emailed me to confirm... and I had to write back to her and postpone. I know he won't be well enough by Saturday to enjoy himself, and I don't want her putting out money and effort when it will be wasted. God, I hated doing that. I was so looking forward to seeing her.

Here's how crazy I am, kids. In my worried state, my mind starts to wander into projection, into future nightmares. This is what getting old looks like. This is what we have to look forward to; one thing after another. If your body doesn't fall apart, your mind disintegrates, or vice versa. And if you're lucky enough to stay healthy, then you end up being a caretaker to someone else.

Jesus! Am I a freaking mess, or what? No wonder I need stress-relief spankings.

Sorry to be such a downer. I thought about posting something else, coming up with some sort of interesting and controversial topic, but you know what? Fuck it. This is where I'm at today. This blog is nothing if not honest. This is Erica, tears and fears, self-centerness and all.

I will stay in the moment. Breathe deep, and listen to the rain. Feel the peace of this day. After all, this moment is all we have; the rest is unknown. And that's probably what drives me the craziest... but I won't think about it. Thinking is not good for me sometimes.

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.