Wednesday, September 29, 2004
state of mind...
Much better mood tonight, for a couple of reasons (where'd that damn sparrow come from?), but a promise is a promise. And since I've been told by one or two people that they are curious about my state of mind - as am I, I assure you - well, here goes:
So. Yesterday's little outburst. Funny story that.
(Okay, not really funny, but hey, some levity might senak its way in. Stranger things have happened.)
Not going to go into details, but here's the deal:
Due to something work related, I called up a friend. We got the work stuff out of the way fairly quickly and ended up chatting for a few minutes, shooting that criminal breeze that always seems to be asking to be shot. In the midst of the chat, my friend imparted to me a bit of information, the specifics of which are - if not immaterial - not entirely pertinent to the rest of the story. Suffice it to say it was information that displeased me mightily, though I didn't let on to that displeasure in the remaining minute of our conversation. It was still sinking in.
Okay, I admit that I had earlier requested that said info be imparted to me should it ever come up, knowing that it would make me unhappy but believing that it was something I needed to know. Well, I was absolutely right. It made me angry and upset and hurt. I thought very mean, petty thoughts. And since my choices were either throw things in the showroom or write something to vent my emotions (no matter how little the entry might be), I chose the path that was least likely to get me fired.
Pragmatic Taurus, that's me.
Normally I would have written this entry while in the throes of my emotions, but between writing group and getting home too late and exhausted to string together words more coherent than, "Bed. Sleep. Get cat off face. Zzzzzzzzz," I chose to wait. As a consequence a calmer, cooler head has prevailed.
(Don't worry, I'll return it to its rightful owner tomorrow.)
So, how do two sentences of unwelcome information tie into my state of mind over the last week or four?
Because it made me think, once again, that I need to seriously work on getting my shit together.
Let's look at a few hard facts in the World of Carol:
No car. Terminally broke. Doesn't work as hard as she should, which could possibly come back to bite her in the ass. Has the discipline and focus of a gnat. Sucks at follow-through. Hates to ask for help, despite the billions of times friends and family tells her it's okay, because she thinks, Hey, got herself into the mess, should be able to get herself out of it. Beats herself up for not being further along in her life. Self-sabotaging. Feels as if nearly every day she is turning into an angrier, pettier, more bitter person than the day before and really hates feeling like that.
This isn't to say that your humble narrarator thinks she is all bad. Oh no, gentle readers. In many ways I do have a rather high opinion of myself. But it is so often at war with the many times that I curse and swear at myself for not being more decisive, more pro-active, more driven. There is such a humungous font of ambition bubbling up inside of me and I do so little to turn that font into a geyser of productive creativity. As each year passes I feel as though I'm sliding further and further down a slope that is slippery and muddy and has a very hard, very sharp bottom. And that it's only by running in place that I avoid falling head over ass all the way down. I rarely felt like this in my twenties. It just seems like it's snowballing in my mid-to-late thirties.
So I look at my disjointed life and my frequently messy surroundings and I think, "This is a girl-- No, a woman. This is a 38 year old woman that patently Does Not Have Her Shit Together." So it's not much wonder why I've been on the single side for so long. Perhaps why LiterateLawyerGuy (remember him?) told me that we ultimately weren't compatible. Or why WriterBoy told me right up front that he wasn't looking for a relationship but I saw him sitting rather cozily with another woman a few months later at a book reading in Westwood. Or why CuteNerdBoy, despite initial indications to the contrary, decided that he doesn't see me as more than a dear friend.
I mean, who would want to get involved with a woman who cannot seem to Get Her Shit Together?
So what does this mean? What do I do? Why don't I do those things which I know I must do to make my life better and brighter and what I want it to be?
Hell if I know.
It goes back to being self-sabotaging, I know that much, but I don't know why I'm like that. Why I spin my wheels in the mud until it seems only a tow truck can haul me out. I start wondering if there is some sort of chemical imbalance in my system that throws my mental processes all out of whack. I know I have a tendency towards mild (and on rare occasions, no-so-mild) depression. Is there something more? Or is my older brother right when he says that, though he knows I have a good heart, I'm too self-involved to look outward?
One thing that I do know: it's time to get myself back to therapy. I haven't been there in a long time because after I was laid off by Lions Gate I didn't have the money and I felt weird asking her to put me on a payment plan (which she totally would have done - it goes back to the "hating to ask for help" thing I've got going). Now that I have a steady job with benefits again, I can go back, even if my insurance will pay only a portion of the bill (my therapist doesn't take insurance, but she's good enough I'm willing to bite the bullet). I feel comfortable with her and I know she's not going to knee-jerk-prescribe medication (though I sometimes wonder if it might help, I hate the thought of feeling numb to life).
My SisterCompany counterpart has a holistic chiropractor that she adores, so I might give him a try. It might be nice to go through life again without the low-level neck ache that accompanies every day, which could help my outlook a bit more.
I'll just keep writing and interacting with positive people, because both are such wonderful confidence boosters. I feel like I should be able to boost my own confidence (you know, that whole "no one can make me truly happy but me" kinda stuff), but until I can, well, I'll just do the best that I can.
And sooner than later My Shit Will Be Mostly Together.
(And someone will do something about that damned European sparrow...)
So. Yesterday's little outburst. Funny story that.
(Okay, not really funny, but hey, some levity might senak its way in. Stranger things have happened.)
Not going to go into details, but here's the deal:
Due to something work related, I called up a friend. We got the work stuff out of the way fairly quickly and ended up chatting for a few minutes, shooting that criminal breeze that always seems to be asking to be shot. In the midst of the chat, my friend imparted to me a bit of information, the specifics of which are - if not immaterial - not entirely pertinent to the rest of the story. Suffice it to say it was information that displeased me mightily, though I didn't let on to that displeasure in the remaining minute of our conversation. It was still sinking in.
Okay, I admit that I had earlier requested that said info be imparted to me should it ever come up, knowing that it would make me unhappy but believing that it was something I needed to know. Well, I was absolutely right. It made me angry and upset and hurt. I thought very mean, petty thoughts. And since my choices were either throw things in the showroom or write something to vent my emotions (no matter how little the entry might be), I chose the path that was least likely to get me fired.
Pragmatic Taurus, that's me.
Normally I would have written this entry while in the throes of my emotions, but between writing group and getting home too late and exhausted to string together words more coherent than, "Bed. Sleep. Get cat off face. Zzzzzzzzz," I chose to wait. As a consequence a calmer, cooler head has prevailed.
(Don't worry, I'll return it to its rightful owner tomorrow.)
So, how do two sentences of unwelcome information tie into my state of mind over the last week or four?
Because it made me think, once again, that I need to seriously work on getting my shit together.
Let's look at a few hard facts in the World of Carol:
No car. Terminally broke. Doesn't work as hard as she should, which could possibly come back to bite her in the ass. Has the discipline and focus of a gnat. Sucks at follow-through. Hates to ask for help, despite the billions of times friends and family tells her it's okay, because she thinks, Hey, got herself into the mess, should be able to get herself out of it. Beats herself up for not being further along in her life. Self-sabotaging. Feels as if nearly every day she is turning into an angrier, pettier, more bitter person than the day before and really hates feeling like that.
This isn't to say that your humble narrarator thinks she is all bad. Oh no, gentle readers. In many ways I do have a rather high opinion of myself. But it is so often at war with the many times that I curse and swear at myself for not being more decisive, more pro-active, more driven. There is such a humungous font of ambition bubbling up inside of me and I do so little to turn that font into a geyser of productive creativity. As each year passes I feel as though I'm sliding further and further down a slope that is slippery and muddy and has a very hard, very sharp bottom. And that it's only by running in place that I avoid falling head over ass all the way down. I rarely felt like this in my twenties. It just seems like it's snowballing in my mid-to-late thirties.
So I look at my disjointed life and my frequently messy surroundings and I think, "This is a girl-- No, a woman. This is a 38 year old woman that patently Does Not Have Her Shit Together." So it's not much wonder why I've been on the single side for so long. Perhaps why LiterateLawyerGuy (remember him?) told me that we ultimately weren't compatible. Or why WriterBoy told me right up front that he wasn't looking for a relationship but I saw him sitting rather cozily with another woman a few months later at a book reading in Westwood. Or why CuteNerdBoy, despite initial indications to the contrary, decided that he doesn't see me as more than a dear friend.
I mean, who would want to get involved with a woman who cannot seem to Get Her Shit Together?
So what does this mean? What do I do? Why don't I do those things which I know I must do to make my life better and brighter and what I want it to be?
Hell if I know.
It goes back to being self-sabotaging, I know that much, but I don't know why I'm like that. Why I spin my wheels in the mud until it seems only a tow truck can haul me out. I start wondering if there is some sort of chemical imbalance in my system that throws my mental processes all out of whack. I know I have a tendency towards mild (and on rare occasions, no-so-mild) depression. Is there something more? Or is my older brother right when he says that, though he knows I have a good heart, I'm too self-involved to look outward?
One thing that I do know: it's time to get myself back to therapy. I haven't been there in a long time because after I was laid off by Lions Gate I didn't have the money and I felt weird asking her to put me on a payment plan (which she totally would have done - it goes back to the "hating to ask for help" thing I've got going). Now that I have a steady job with benefits again, I can go back, even if my insurance will pay only a portion of the bill (my therapist doesn't take insurance, but she's good enough I'm willing to bite the bullet). I feel comfortable with her and I know she's not going to knee-jerk-prescribe medication (though I sometimes wonder if it might help, I hate the thought of feeling numb to life).
My SisterCompany counterpart has a holistic chiropractor that she adores, so I might give him a try. It might be nice to go through life again without the low-level neck ache that accompanies every day, which could help my outlook a bit more.
I'll just keep writing and interacting with positive people, because both are such wonderful confidence boosters. I feel like I should be able to boost my own confidence (you know, that whole "no one can make me truly happy but me" kinda stuff), but until I can, well, I'll just do the best that I can.
And sooner than later My Shit Will Be Mostly Together.
(And someone will do something about that damned European sparrow...)
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United States, California, Los Angeles, San Fernando Valley, English, Carol, Female, 36-40.
