The Dog’s Towel

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I don’t know why I feel a bit fearful about coming back here and talking about myself even if I know that it is definitely the fastest way t get my word count done rather than poking at these files as I add and delete sentences here and there.  Even if I have done it before, literally thousands of times.  It is like anything else when I am working through anxiety.  Thick woody vines grow over the idea that I am free and safe and acceptable and doing the best I can and squeeze those premises until they get no air and the only path that’s clear is the old, stupid one that goes out of our way by miles and hours just to find flat, unswerving road.  I duck my head until my neck aches and scuttle towards homes.  These are old habits and I’m overwhelmed and starting to really understand how the things that were before are following me and that, too, freaks me out and pushes me towards regrettable choices.

I don’t want to say this out loud because it’s too despairing to think that it’s not just me not trying hard enough to fit more time into the day.  I want the worry to be something I could fix even if I am too worried to actually fix it.  Some of this is, however, out of my hands.

I have a lot of strange stripes of energies all colliding and combining and asking for my attention right now and I know what center is.  I know what the right path is.  I know what to do to move forward.   I find doing those things essentially impossible right now even as I stumble towards doing them.  So I feel guilty and imperfect and imperfect for using the world imperfect.   I am writing, and creating and connecting and feeling, which is, in the background processes of my mind, sparking other impulses – to sit long enough to draw forth the Faithful Light.  Stop this tarantella and begin again with the work I was sharing with my therapist.

Look in the mirror.  Drink the water you want to drink.  Stretch these bent muscles taut.   Make a checklist and stick around to check things off of it.  Put things away after you use them, right then, don’t think, don’t question, don’t let the muscles pull you into the drowning currents.

It’s Friday tomorrow, and in a week, a big work event that I am not entirely sure we’re ready for.  I am trying to recall the first year in my prior job and how it always felt like I was off and forgetting and unprepared and I got through eight of those and eventually came to a point of some competence.   I feel a shakiness that I know, in part, is just a response to that surge of thinking I knew what I was doing and driving and focus and going downtown.  It is two steps back I’m trying to forestall and just take the one. That would be good.

 

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