I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a US postal worker, and my mail truck was just ambushed by a band of backwoods mail-hating survivalists.

Today is a good day.  I got invited to jam with a local band this afternoon.  I didn’t want to go, but my reason sucked, so I went anyway.  I was pretty anxious on the way and for the first few minutes.  Then I asked if I can play too.  They asked me what I play, and I said I’d love anything with sticks or strings.

When anxiety turns into excitement like that, it’s a weird feeling.  It almost feels impossible to contain.  Everything in me demanded I jump up and down or I would burst into a gazillion broken pieces.  I hopped a few times to prevent it, then stopped and hoped nobody noticed.  The man who plays lead guitar (saw and) said he hoped my enthusiasm was contagious.  (I decided I love him.)

I went for the bass because nobody else did.  I told them I’ve only been playing it for a short time, so don’t expect any solos.  They all laughed, and I had another one of those moments where I wonder if they know I mean literally, then agonize over whether to ask.  I didn’t ask.  (Thank you, Stevie Nicks, for being the one person on this planet who finally managed to convince me to always think before speaking, and take my time.)

Tangent:  It took a long time for me to fully concede it’s sometimes better to say nothing, (even if it’s incredibly hilarious.)   It’s a semi-painful concession.  Part of me would rather live in a world where anything is okay to say, so long as it’s wicked funny.  Then I remember there’s absolutely no way that wouldn’t end in (rivers of) tears (for me.)  Damn.  I guess Stevie Nicks got me to (finally) grow up.  Um…  Ow.  😂😂😂😂😂

I had so much fun playing my face still hurts from smiling.  M. complimented me and seemed surprised how well I hung in there.  Then I ruined it by telling him it’s because I practice with the same songs, and therefore suggested them (Jackson 5.)   Jermaine Jackson is the bar I set for my bass playing endeavor.  (If you knew how many notes I currently have to drop to stay in time with the song, you’d be laughing with me.)  It still sounds pretty good, though.  I’m a rhythm bass player.  Heh.

I brought my violin, but as expected, they just looked at it, then looked at me, then looked away.  Did everyone in South Dakota get together and decide on this reaction?  I bet there was cake.  😒  I’m probably still a little bit over excited.  It’s hard to calm down after having a great time.  M. wants to go sit in the hot tub.  It would probably help, but it just seems so unsanitary.  Maybe I’ll just put my legs in.  Apparently, my germaphobia ends with my knees.  💜

I can’t believe that you saw her before me.

I realized I don’t code most of the time anymore.  I think this is a good thing because I laugh more.  It feels like I broke an addiction because I get random urges to start new projects all the time.  I thought I would have a harder time letting go.  It’s mind boggling how much time I’ve spent writing code on a computer in my lifetime.  It’s probably just under the time I’ve spent sleeping.  I’m impatient.  If something takes ten hours to complete, there is no way I’m going to break that up.  I know my limit is between 19 and 21 hours.  (That’s not typical, however, and I swear I’ll never do anything that long again.)

I can stay awake(ish) for 32 hours, but those last several hours are wasted time.  All I do is nod off, startle myself awake, laugh about it, (rinse, and repeat.)  I fell asleep on guard duty once when I was in the Army.  The fucker who was my relief saw me, went and caught a tarantula, and put it down my shirt.  I ripped my shirt off while screaming and running in place.  Then I burst into tears and told him I hated him, while he fell on the ground laughing.  Fucker.  Although, I never did it again.  Fucker.  (Full body shudder.)

I’m well into my second reading of The Dark Tower series, by Stephen King.  I’m just marveling at the details this time.  I think the mastery lies in his restraint.  He only told us enough of the story to force us to obsess over what he didn’t.  Human brains make premature determinations all the time, so he left room for the Constant Reader to use their own imagination and cryptography skills to add even more richness to an already lush tale.  I know!  Holy shit!  No two will experience the exact same story.  Sigh.  My next boyfriend will be more of a reader.  (It’s a joke, mostly.)

I read an article yesterday about Prozac being used to “treat” autism.  The Army came to that conclusion when I was a teenager.  I always forget about the delay.  It seems an unusually long one, though.  I’m not a parent, and I’ve already shared my thoughts on the drug.  All I can say is thank goodness I don’t have to make such a hard decision for someone completely dependent on me.  And I know that’s just one out of thousands like it.  I can’t even have a dog, so I’m generally awed by good parents.  It was the single parent of an autistic kid who helped me realize activism isn’t optional.  (Last year, sigh.)  I’m always late to the party.

I’m super anxious today, and I’m subconsciously trying to match it by speeding up.  My heart is telling me I should be running, not sitting on the floor typing on a laptop.  I’m having a difficult time remaining seated.  It reminds me of the time my PC doctor yelled at me for jumping up and down when I was supposed to be waiting to get my blood pressure checked.  (Jumping up and down makes it feel like time is moving faster, and makes waiting less annoying.  Duh.)  It scared the shit out of me because she came up behind me.  I must have accidentally let the I’m about to cry face show for a second because she immediately apologized.  It was a tiny bit funny.  Sometimes I have to admit I am too fucking literal.

I saw an interview on Youtube with Stevie Nicks and noticed she was rocking throughout the interview.  I mentioned it to M., and he said, “She’s not autistic, she’s high on cocaine.”  (I didn’t ask him if he thought she was autistic.)  I paused for a second to decide if his reading my mind was funny or infuriating.  I decided it’s funny.  (I kinda think everyone is half black, might be undiagnosed autistic, loves Star Wars, reads, and sings a lot until otherwise is proven.)  That’s right.  Still not sophisticated.

One thing I’ve learned from Stevie Nicks is to trust my intuition with a fierceness when necessary.  Also, I noticed she doesn’t tear people down.  I like that quality in a person.  For those who also wonder;  she still looks gorgeous because she stays in the shade, uses La Mer skincare products, and never ever goes to bed with makeup on.  I’m settling for 2 out of 3.  I can’t stomach paying that much to stay cute (while not being a rock goddess.  Besides, La Mer would be foolish to make her buy it.  All they have to do to make bank is put “Stevie Nicks uses this” on the bottle.)  I’ll just be kinda cute instead.  It looks the same from my perspective.  😂

It feels like aliens poking at my body.

CW:  suicide, PTSD symptoms (Skip it if you’re not positive you’re up for it. 💜)









Today has been rough.  I had the math isn’t real nightmare again last night.  It fucks me up every time.  It usually means my sleeping mind has penetrated my defense system, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.  Yay. /sarcasm.  These are the times I wonder if testing medical cannabis for PTSD might be a good idea.  I know what’s coming and I’m trying not to wig out.  I’m trying not to let four letters defeat me.

When I first entered mental health services at the VA, I was told the only way to overcome PTSD was to talk about what caused it.  It sounds simple, but talking about it means thinking about it.  Thinking about it means visualizing and reliving it mentally.  Reliving it mentally means willingly stepping into the hell that fucked you up so badly, it altered the structure of your brain.  And do this with whatever mental health professional you’re assigned.  Side note:  You won’t see the same provider more than once for the first five years of your recovery.  Good luck!

I read an article in Wired magazine suggesting the retelling of traumatic events that caused PTSD retraumatizes and worsens the condition.  I gave it to the nursing staff on the mental health ward at the VA.  It aligned with what they concluded for my situation.  They weren’t surprised.  There have been visible changes at the VA since then, many improvments.  For example; the VA now acknowledges the fact women also serve.  (I mean more than just saying they do.)

They still have a way to go before the number of veterans who opt for suicide goes down.  It’s around 20 suicides a day right now.  It makes me sad, but I understand it.  When you’re the one who gives everything you have to the military, and suddenly you find yourself in a hospital, being told you’re no longer fit to serve, (because something that happened while you were honorably serving your country was more traumatic than your brain could process,) it makes a lot more sense.  It made perfect sense to me when I was told I had to go through hell again to get out of hell.  Everything within me said, “Fuck that, I’m out of here.”

I came very close to succeeding at offing myself.  My memory of the event is spotty.  I won’t go into detail, but what I remember most is the suicide prevention counselor telling me the police were surprised I survived.  It stuck with me and helped shake me out of my tunnel vision.  I was (final) acting on only my initial perspective of my situation.  It was bleak as fuck, don’t get me wrong.  However, I tried to bail before going through the entire mental exercise.  It didn’t cross my mind I might be playing tag with PTSD.

My perspective broadened, and my situation stopped appearing so black and white.  I remembered I’m a survivor;  Of course, I can handle whatever PTSD throws at me.  It’s sometimes painful, I’m rarely well rested, I startle like the calls are coming from inside the house, and I can’t watch anything with suspense or would frighten a five-year-old.  Additionally, July 1-July 10th, I have to wear noise canceling headphones all day, and earplugs all night.  I used to love fireworks.  Now they’re torture.

It’s also best for me to get out of town when the airshow is going on.  I was in Air Defense Artillery for the first five years of my service.  Nothing moves in the sky when I’m outside without my noticing (and identifying it as friend or foe.)  Probably for the rest of my life.  I used to participate in wargames at 29 Palms, California.  It’s basically the most incredible game of laser tag on earth, (tracked vehicles, copters, aircraft, huge teams,etc.)  While it’s easily in the top five most exciting things I’ve ever done, it also scared the shit out of me several times.  Let’s just say showoff pilots who do flybys of ground troops who are under camo are assholes of enormous proportion.

I know what’s coming, and part of me wants to curl up in a ball and cry.  Sigh.  Instead, I’m going to dig deep and find what I need to get through, even if it’s by the skin of my teeth.  (Who thinks of these?)  I have my Wanda Syke’s: I’ma Be Me DVD if things get too bad.  I’m going swimming with some neighbors soon.  They’re Muslim and wear suits that are quite modest.  They gave me one when I asked where to get them.  I have super nice neighbors.  I have it on now, and I like it.  It’s too humid to run outside, which sucks.  But swimming is better for me anyway.  I’m off to focus on fun like there’s a prize.

Not everybody knows what the crop circles are.

I’ve learned a bit about executive function since joining Autistic Twitter.  I just read my Pocket Sister’s blog describing her adventures with this challenging quirk.  It involves a phenomenon familiar to neurodiverse humans.  The executive function primarily entails the mental ability to manage time and focus.  Mine is spotty at best.  I find the most frustrating aspect to be losing words.  It nullifies my vocabulary acquired from spending so much time reading novels.  It complicates my ability to communicate with others.

Imagine trying to successfully express a complex concept using only the words contained in a nursery rhyme.  That’s as close as I can describe what it feels like to communicate with most other people.  The words I can consistently recall in real time when anxious are the words I had learned by rote before comprehension was a factor.  When I speak of being on auto-pilot, it could also be described as functioning by rote.  It’s my recovery mode.  It’s what happens automatically whenever I’m outside my home, and my anxiety gets triggered.  I suspect I spend more time on auto-pilot than not.

Anxiety is the bane of my social existence.  The worst part; it’s justified based on my history of socializing with others.  It’s absolutely the logical way to feel when attempting something I’ve failed at so many times.  I’m human, and we all need social contact with other people to some degree.  It’s a need I’ve tried to eradicate before, (always striving for efficiency.)  I couldn’t pull it off.  Instead, I just keep trying.  I stopped keeping track of how many times I’ve fucked it up.  It was discouraging.  I’m not seeking fame or popularity, (I couldn’t type that without laughing at the thought.)  I just need enough socialization to prevent my becoming too weird.

By too weird, I mean the way all humans change when isolated from other people.  We start talking to ourselves, and to inanimate objects (Wilson!!!).  When we do finally encounter another person, we tend to overshare overlong.  There’s more, but you get the picture.  I’m trying to socialize with other humans enough to prevent losing the ability.  It’s absolutely a Use it or Lose it skill.  So I put up with feeling anxious and inarticulate.  I’ve gotten used to needing a paragraph to express a sentence.  It’s hard because I value conciseness.  I find it easier to write than speak.  By quite a bit.  I just haven’t been able to convince those in my world to restrict their communications to text or email.

I’m working on a virtual presence device.  My first obstacle is designing one that won’t result in theft, vandalism, teasing, etc.  It’s a fun project, and I intend to use it often once completed.  As long as there is tech, I’ll find a way to fit my square peg in this round-holed planet, and I’ll have fun in the process.  I’m off to beat my drums with sticks.

Jerry , this is a miracle of nature that exists for a brief period.

I took my car in to be winterized.  We had our first snow, but I was out of town for the worst of it, then left again to Denver for the weekend.  Today it rained nonstop, and there’s still remnants of snow here and there.  It’s not cold enough to snow again, but it might overnight.  I love winter, but it’s starting out slushy, which is gross, and dangerous for night driving.  When I was driving home from the airport, I noticed I was slightly under the halfway full mark on my gas tank.  I was taught to never let it go below halfway full by my Dad when I was 11.  He told my other sisters this, too.  My brothers were allowed to push their car home if they ran out of gas, and it was no big deal.  If one of the girls did that, driving privileges were revoked.  When I asked why it varied, he said it was for safety reasons.  I was satisfied with that response.

I stopped at the gas station near where I live, and tried to fill my tank, but the door to my gas tank wouldn’t open when I pulled the latch.  I was too disoriented to deal with it at that point, and did it today instead.  The mechanic fixed it quickly, and jerry-rigged a design flaw so it won’t happen again.  Then I got an oil change, etc.  While I was waiting, that old show, Macgyver was on.  I liked it, and loved Stargate SG-1 with the same lead.  A woman sitting near me mentioned there is a new version on now, and told me when it’s on.  She wished me a Happy Thanksgiving when they finished her car before mine.  This is typical interaction in Sioux Falls between strangers.  Macgyver was a nice buffer, because I didn’t get anxious when she began speaking to me.  But I did stare at my phone until they finished my car after after that.

I don’t allow myself to play video games on my phone when I’m in public.  I talk to myself when I play games, because it helps keep my anxiety down.  I talk smack to the monsters to help control my fear.  I know this isn’t weird, and lots of people do it, but in public, not everyone is a gamer.  Many of us who are gamers are living part of our lives as action heroes, or villains when we game.  We tend to behave the way they do in movies.  We don’t just walk in and destroy all monsters instantly.  We mock them, and tear them down verbally in clever, and amusing ways first.  Just like in the movies.  It’s puffing up your chest before a fight.  It has nothing to do with the enemy.  It’s just how a lot of humans keep their anxiety levels in check.  And since I’m a woman, admitting video games scare me doesn’t necessarily diminish me in the eyes of potential mates.  (I go out of my way to point this out, in hopes others recognize how silly it is, and stop supporting dumb.)  I just don’t trust the filter between my brain and mouth, assuming it exists.

Phone games are harder for me than playing on my PC.  It’s an interface issue.  I need more options for controlling my avatar.  Afterall, I’m an avatar controlling an avatar controlling an avatar.  The fact that I can make my toons on Warcraft do mostly what I command them to do is outstanding, and took lots of practice.  And lots of dying.  It took a long time to figure out how to calm down after dying, and try again, without having a meltdown in between.  I started out on Atari, and I’ve gamed since Pitfall came out.  You’d think that meant I was good at it.  That’s not the case.  I’m good at recovering from death and trying again.  Something inside me won’t let me just walk away, and come back fresh to try later.  I feel compelled to try over and over until I get it.  Obviously, this is working out so far.  But I dread the day it doesn’t.

I remember how my Mom acted when she caught me doing this when I was learning how to code.  I was exasperated, and raging, while trying to debug some code.  It disturbed her enough to threaten taking my computer away.  But from my viewpoint, it was no big deal.  I was pushing myself because I was unwilling to accept a reality in which I didn’t get my way with my code.  It’s easier to keep trying than it is to give up, and accept that reality isn’t what you assumed.  I suppose it is a little disturbing.  It’s part of why I know I can do anything.  People like me don’t do well with utter defeat.  It’s not that I’m afraid of losing.  I don’t care about competing with other human beings.  That whole concept is baffling.  For me, it’s having reality shattered.  I rely heavily on reality, and when it lets me down, I fall hard.

In a way, I think I set myself up for the hard fall.  But it’s because I don’t think it’s possible to fall so hard, that knowing I can do anything isn’t worth it.  I got tangled up trying to express that thought.  This bit of knowledge is my greatest superpower.  It makes life livable.  It’s almost a form of arrogance, but one that relies solely on trust of self.  I hope it keeps me from being an asshole.  Assholes are lazy.  Imagine how easy life would be if being an asshole was rewarding.  And I’m not talking about Louis C. K.  He’s a genius, and that has it’s perks.  In my world, Louis C. K. is a demi-god.  He can make me laugh, cry, get angry, etc. with ease.  I’m still processing his TV show, Louis.  I’m a season behind because it’s so brilliant, I had to think for a while after every episode.  It’s like All in the Family for Gen X.

He gets away with everything Archie did, because we love him for making us laugh so hard at ourselves.  He took self-deprecation comedy out back and told it some secrets, then got stoned, and told some jokes.  Not literally, I’m trying to make an analogy again.  Now you know why I keep trying, (even though there’s no detectable improvement.)  I got sidetracked again.  It’s me being literal with my disorientation.  Tomorrow, I’m starting my new project.  I’m so excited to begin.  I’m off to read.

Lighten up. It’ll only feel like an eternity.

I’m back in Denver.  I’m only here for the weekend.  I needed a break from my anxiety.  It was intense, but I’m not feeling much anxiety right now.  Just a little bit from unfamiliar sounds.  I got my iPhone 7+, and brought it, but not my Galaxy 7 Edge.  I forgot about the lack of an audio port, and didn’t bring my new wireless Bose QuietComfort 35 headset.  It’s become too treasured to risk losing on a trip.  I wish I thought to bring the earbuds that came with the phone.  I’ve never bothered with Apple earbuds, since the original version didn’t fit in my ear.  I’m not an audiophile, but even I know to toss any earphones that come with a device.  My feelings about wireless earbuds remain as before; they’re ridiculous.

We’re not yet where we need to be in tech prowess to create wireless earbuds that don’t suck.  We’re getting there, but trust me, Samsung and Apple are using their customers as beta testers.  I’m not saying that’s wrong, it’s logical.  But some people don’t realize this before buying first generation gadgets.  If you buy something new that was recently made available, and it uses batteries or electricity, you’re going to be disappointed.  It will have issues.  Underpowered until they figure out how to eliminate overheating issues.  Shitty battery life.  A design that’s quickly declared fugly, and soon after, replaced with something sleeker.  Missing options that show up in a near-future release.  It’s cool if you’re not the type of person who loses it when you pay several hundred dollars, then find out it wasn’t anywhere near a final revision.

I’m able to think a lot easier now.  I’ve accepted the election results, of course.  Not with a smile, but I’ll get over myself.  Every time I recall how shocked I was, and how excruciating it was to adjust to something I wasn’t expecting, I just remind myself that Hillary Clinton is back at work.  I don’t have the gall necessary to continue whining, knowing that fact.  I’m proud of her.  That was some serious testicular fortitude.  Epic, even.  I’m adjusting my attitude, because I can’t afford it.  I am, and always have been, against the concept of hating people who support a different candidate than I.  Obviously, they have a different perspective.  The smartest thing to do in that situation, is listen.

First of all, hating someone is a waste of energy.  I’ve never met an adult who has energy to spare for such things.  They’re either rejecting hate, or something else in their life is suffering for their indulgence.  I say rejecting, because I understand that sometimes we hate for a minute, then abandon it, because we understand how this works.  The only difference between the average supporter of candidate A and the same for candidate B, is perspective.  How can you hate someone for having a different perspective than you?  It’s ridic.  Now, I’m not talking about the people who do nasty things to other people.  There are people like that supporting all candidates.  I cringe when I see tweets about people being hateful, loudly, in support of a political candidate.

But it’s always a few, not everyone who supports the candidate.  In every other aspect of life (I’m aware of), this rings true as well.  But for some reason, we don’t get as worked up about it, (unless it’s religion).  The word extreme exists for a reason.  Every political stance you can think of has a supporter.  I know a lot of POC and LGBTQ people who are freaking out in advance of what they suspect will happen once Trump takes office.  I’ve heard some grim predictions, but I’m not as certain they’ll all become a reality.  Some probably will.  It’ll suck, and I’ll fight in every legal way I can think of, to support a reality where everyone in our species is afforded the same liberties.  I read a lot of sci-fi.  A lot.  I’m realizing it’s warped my perspective.  It’s fascinating.

The authors I enjoy the most in the genre have a common vision for the future of humanity.  They see us overcoming poverty, hunger, and intolerance of other human beings for reasons beyond their control.  That’s never the focus of the story, but it’s an aspect I adore.  My favorite authors in the genre are Neal Stephenson, Peter F. Hamilton, John Scalzi, James S. A. Corey, and that’s all I can think of, because I’m stoned.  But those four are pretty amazing.  Well, five.  James S. A. Corey is a pen name used by two authors.  I’m usually not keen on collaboration where art is concerned, but The Expanse series is as fun as Firefly.  I like the TV show, too.  I hope it stays on air for years.  Unless Netflix purchases the production, and keeps it going even longer.  That would be ideal.

I’ve wandered back to my second point.  Freaking out in advance.  This is illogical.  If we turn out to have something to freak out about, we should freak out then, (and rise together soon after).  Now is the time to enjoy the status quo, not worry about a future that may never come.  Worrying is right up there with hating.  Avoid both like they’re poisonous, because they are.  Freaking out takes an incredible amount of energy.  Doing so for a few months will land you in a hospital, or morgue.  It will do absolutely nothing but make you sick.  It’s too close to fear.  Fear is one of those things you need to come to terms with as soon as possible.  If you’re an adult, and you don’t know how to cope with fear, you should work on it.  It’s important.  Focus on your strength.  You have more than you can sense.

If you’re a parent, anytime you freak out, so do your kids.  They usually find creative ways to express it, too.  It’s just not worth the cost when the future is unknown.  Worry and fear are siblings.  Feeding them your attention when you’re not in immediate danger is expensive, and you likely can’t afford it.  If you visualize yourself in the role of a victim of (society, circumstances, etc.), that’s what you’ll become.  Don’t waste your visualization ability on visuals that portray your life sucking in any way.  Do the opposite.  Humans are dreamers.  Dream what you want and need, not what you fear and dread.  I believe there’s a threshold to negative thoughts, and exceeding it has dire consequences.  Controlling what you think is easier than breathing.  If you’re easily distracted, practice until you master it.  Lots of meditation guru’s break down the process of controlling your thoughts while they teach meditation techniques.  If you catch yourself worrying, find a distraction, and do that instead.

Apparently, I saved up my words from the last five days, and poured them all into this post.  Um… For your convenience, not because I’m still stoned, (hahaha).  I’m still not feeling anxious.  I won’t for a few days after I get home, at the least.  I forgot to record how long it lasted, for obvious reasons.  Things are absolutely funnier when I’m stoned.  I love that.  I’d tell you some of the silly things that amused me, but I can’t remember.  I normally have a good memory, so this would probably be upsetting if I wasn’t stoned.  Okay, I’ll stop.  You’re welcome.

I was rejected by a bald woman.

Today was too short.  I feel like I need about 4 more hours per day.  I’m still away from home.  I don’t think for much longer, but I’m not certain.  Part of me doesn’t want to travel again anytime soon.  Another part of me recognizes that it’s not always in my control.  It’s disorienting, and it breaks my schedule.  But sooner or later, I’ll get used to it.  At least all this traveling about has reassured me that my current job isn’t enough work for me.  I’m going to be starting a second job working remotely.  I’m very excited about it, because it’ll be challenging, and obsessing will be encouraged.  I won’t be able to share much, though.  NDA’s and all that.

I had a long talk with my sister earlier.  It was past due.  I’m still processing the discussion.  I’ll probably need to sleep on it.  She realizes it’s hard for me to be away from home this often.  When she acknowledges it, for some reason it increases my determination to hang in there.  I just know I need to go home sooner than later.  My life is a balancing act to avoid depression and excessive anxiety, (it’s all excessive to me).  It’s hard enough when I’m in familiar surroundings and adhering to my schedule.  I don’t like disregarding the rules for being okay.  It usually ends in tears.

In fact, she said looks aren’t even that important to her.

I’m slowly recovering from my recent excessive traveling.  I’m at a point now where I recognize the difference between how I was feeling when I first got home versus today.  I distinctly recall feeling like it would take months for me to recover enough to travel again.  And at the time, I thought it was a conservative estimate.  Today, I agreed to return to Denver on Saturday.  I didn’t immediately agree.  There was a lot of breaking things down into small bits, and re-examining the challenge, before I got there.  The overall result is that my anxiety is lower now.  That’s always a good thing.

There will be structure to my time, as usual.  I always try and knock out a few goals while I’m there.  I figure when I’m already that far outside of my comfort zone, throwing in an interview or hair appointment on top is a good strategy.  My anxiety level can only go so high, as far as I’m aware.  So far in my life, the highest point is a full blown panic attack, resulting in my laying on the ground like a puddle of goo, hyperventilating, crying, and either wishing very hard that nobody would approach me, or thanking the universe that nobody approached me.  It sucks very much, but it’s never killed me.  So when I know I’m going to spend the weekend with my anxiety level just under the panic attack stage, I add 1 or 2 things that would normally have the same effect individually.

I guess my logic is that if I’m going to do something that makes me feel like shit, I may as well do as many as I can manage in short succession.  The odds are too near even on whether or not I end up having a panic attack either way.  Might as well do as many panic inducing things as I can manage, since the rest of that day will be spent in isolation beneath a weighted blanket, regardless.  I still jump in the pool all at once, rather than lowering myself in slowly while adjusting to the temperature.  I realize my logic is flimsy, but that’s part of why I like it.  It’s like Logic is being a smart ass, and that’s a personality trait that I find particularly delightful.

Not that there’s anything wrong with it!

Today seemed to fly by.  I’m flying to Denver tomorrow for an interview and to sign some paperwork.  My therapist gave me a quick pep talk in email, reminding me that I’ll do fine.  She’s really good about that.  I did have a lot of anxiety earlier, and came close to a panic attack, but didn’t have one.  I did the grounding and breathing exercises she taught me and warded it off.  Now I’m merely a tiny bit nervous.  I think that’s acceptable.  I’ll be back Saturday night or Sunday morning, so it’ll be a cinch.  I won’t even have time to miss my cat.  Much.

I think I got anxious because I was going to try and pack tonight.  I decided instead to make a packing list tonight, and pack tomorrow.  I’m not nervous for the interview because I’ve had lots of training for that.  I’m WYSIWYG, (what you see is what you get).  I’m not self conscious, even though I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to figure out how to change that.  I’m starting to think it’s not something you can acquire through sheer effort.  I just don’t know how to divide my attention into so many facets in real time.  But I can roll my tongue, so I guess it’s fair.

It’s getting ready to storm.  I just went and looked on my balcony, and there’s lots of lightning everywhere I can see, but not directly above yet.  My cat lets me know in advance because she won’t leave the kitchen when it’s storming or about to start.  I tried to pick her up and move her to my bedroom once.  I have a scar on my arm to remind me never to do that again.  She clawed me hard enough to draw blood, then scolded me.  It was hilarious, but I got the message.  I figure it’s the most use my kitchen gets, so there’s that.  I’m off to read.