happiness is finding the place where being yourself is exactly what's needed

Saturday, February 26, 2011

what if zombie monkeys fall from the sky?

i used to be a chronic worrier. 18 year old me thought i was going to get fired every day i went in to work. 16 year old me was certain i'd die before 30 of a brain aneurysm (shit, i shouldn't talk, i'm not 30 yet). 22 year old me worried that i'd corrupt my own brain by worrying so much.

my brain creates what-if scenarios for ever situation. the bus is 1 minute late. what if it never comes? it's raining. what if i'm a witch and i melt? the coffee pot is on. what if i catch the house on fire? etc. etc. you get the gist.

in 2007, while my Intrepid was in the repair shop for some such reason or another (ironic car type for me, no?) i happened upon a magazine article about a woman who called herself a chronic worrier. it was the first time i'd ever heard anyone say that. the examples she gave reminded me of me.

omfgotherpeoplethinklikethistoo moments are priceless, aren't they?

i don't remember if the solution was in the article itself or if it's something i realized later by piecing together this line of thought with the actions and thoughts of the sane and rational people person i know. (DandelionGirl is the sane and rational person i know. some people are sane. others are rational. not many are both.)

but the solution, of course, is to answer your own what-if questions. this was only not obvious to me from the beginning because people'll tend to tell you to hide/ignore your irrational thoughts/questions, instead of what to do about them.

what if my clothes get soaked on the way to work? my co-workers will tell me that for the love of all things holy i should get a damn umbrella. what if i get fired for showing up to work drenched? i'll get a new job. what if i get kicked out of where i'm living? i'll find random places to sleep until i figure out a place to be. what if everyone i know really hates me? i'm sure they'll tell me eventually. what if they tell me eventually? i'll move to another state and make new friends. what if a dingo eats my baby? i'll make a new one. etc. etc.

the point is, there's an answer to every possible thing that could worry me, and the answer 999 times out of 1000 is that i probably wouldn't die/destroy the world.

so, yeah, i might be little neurotic. the plus side is that i know of pretty much every way i might react to pretty much every situation because i've already thought about it, probably numerous times. except for the zombie apocalypse. shit. i gotta work on that.

i've always had a tendency to plot out all possible scenarios for myself. but i didn't really think about what i was doing, didn't really realize it was okay to have those strange paranoid worries, until i read the article.

(one thing that i've only begun teaching myself very very recently, is that even things about me that i haven't heard anyone else say yet are probably also okay.)

anyway, this post was brought to you by me seeing a spider in the shower this morning:
what if it's one of those ones that jumps? then it'll probably jump on me.
what if it's also poisonous, like a brown recluse? then i'll go the hospital and figure out a way to pay for it later. it's not worth losing a limb over.
i'm not paying for an ambulance, so how will i get to the hospital? you made a new friend last night that lives just down the road and has a car. i'm pretty sure asking for a ride to the hospital is one of those things people'd be okay with you doing.

thanks for reading. i realize my posts often kinda long. and if you have any tips for surviving the zombie apocalypse, please let me know.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

and now for something terrible

-original post: blogger: july 2, 2010, titled "why i don't write poetry (as much anymore)"-

1. analogies sometimes completely miss the point:

like a fish in a stream
i was caught by your lure
pulled up from the cold
and into your arms
where you held me so high
with pride on your face
before you layed me gently down on the table and
... oh shit

i won't be the same much longer
i can see it in your eyes
like a cobra staring down a mouse
you keep me mesmerized

2. it's difficult to avoid cliche:

i'm an open book and
you're a locked diary
when the nightcrew swept the floor
they threw away the key
in an alley in the moonlight
with a bottle of wine
where mother nature on cocaine
turned tricks for father time
i just wanted you
to dance forever with me
but first you stole my heart
and then you stole my kidney

3. if i can't think of something good to say, i'll just say anything:

my love for you is as bright as
the numbers on a digital clock
you warm my heart the way
this space heater warms my toes
with you my mood is soft as plastic in the sun
gentle as Charmin toilet paper
if only you could understand me
the way a serial killer understands murder
if only circumstance didn't keep separate our souls
the way a condom separates people's privates

do you have a secret weapon?

(i was reading old blog posts for a bit this evening, a little like stepping into another world or past life, and i realized i really like some of that old stuff i've written. anyway, i'm reposting this, as it's one of my favorites.)

it's like a scene in a movie. the heroine has tried everything she can think of to defeat her nemesis and save the day. the clock is ticking. time is running out. she's cornered and desperate, and that's when she remembers it. the cabinet down the hall with the glass door that says "break only in case of emergency". so she pulls some sweet ninja move to get to the cabinet, busts open the glass, and removes her secret weapon.

i've always felt like that's how it is. like if things ever got to the point where i was going to die if i didn't do something, there would suddenly be a something that i thought of that would remedy the situation. even when it comes to emotions, i feel there are certain blissful feelings i've locked away to depend on for nourishment if i ever get truely depressed. i walk down the street with the constant feeling that i've got something up my sleeve.

i guess for some people that secret weapon is faith. they believe that at those times when there is nowhere else to turn, god will be there. god can't suddenly appear in the alley in the form of chuck norris and drop kick the guy with the knife to your throat, of course. but he might make some miracle happen, i.e. a dog barks at just the right moment, and said attacker, who is terrified of dogs, has a heart attack and stumbles into the street where he's run over by the ice cream truck.

the secret weapon could be anything. god. money. family. the truth. a lie. respect for hidden knowledge in our own unconscious minds or the universal subconscious.

but i suspect we all have one, even if we have no idea what it might be, even if there isn't a damn clue in our silly heads about whether there's a gun in that class case or a clown juggling bicycles.

and no matter what we do, we never get that feeling like we've used our secret weapon. either we've never used it or we've got loads of secret weapons and super secret weapons and super super secret weapons stashed all over town. because having that feeling is somehow important to our survival as sane creatures.

funny how probably the only thing separating most sane from insane people is a little delusional thinking.

(stay tuned for an even funnier post tomorrow, regarding poetry. unless you're on Rabbit's Den, since i'm probably going to post it there right now.)