For the sake of it

 

I’m reading a book on how to deal with being an introvert. All these words and labels I never used before: anxiety, introvert, ect. Maybe it’s a reflection of my sudden interest in "fixing" myself, in trying to reconcile who I am with who I need to be. It sucks that those two people are so different.

I’m also reading a book on writing. In it there are lots of quotes and elaborations on how, in order to be a good writer, you need to be brave enough to face your fears. That sounds simple. You don’t like spiders, you write about them being terrifying or monstrous and have some hero save the day and annhilate them all with a ginormous can of raid. The hard part is when the things that scare you are integral parts of your every day life. I have a favorite here on OD who is fighting that same battle. We tend to write what we know, even if they aren’t literal accounts of events there is a thread of truth there. There’s a scene or a character that even your most distant acquaintance might recognize and then connect to reality.

To write that, even if you have no intention of letting another soul read it, is courageous, not just because of the chance for self exposure but also because of the chance of self discovery. Looking that long in the mirror can get ugly.

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I feel encouraged by it all though. I feel possiblities this week that I didn’t last. I like learning how to overcome my own inadequacies both in my endeavor to some day be an author and in my struggles just trying to be human.

The introvert book has already been surprisingly helpful. I get now why I love a hot bath or a quiet park so much. It’s a chance to recharge and recenter myself.

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Today was an uneventful day. We have this secretary who is in our office a day and a half each week. The doctor she works for runs a clinic out of our office so for 12 hours a week I have to listen to her otherwordly loud voice bellowing over everything I’m trying to hear and do. She’s been told she’s too loud but nothing affects the volume. It’s impossible to hear people on the phone sometimes and we all find ourselves yelling over the top of her.

She’s also obnoxiously opinionated and self assured in her own rightness. *sigh* Recharging takes longer on those days that she’s there.I leave work feeling incredibly drained even if I didn’t really do anything. I had a scary moment last week when a pipe burst in the office above their regular one and ruined half the building. They’re scrambling for office space to see patients and self-centered as it was all I could think to do was beg god to find them any place else but our office. I’d go mental.

Dealing with the public drains me. I really want to work in a back office or something if I have to do secretarial work again. I’d apply for back office now if there was a decent position open. It’s not that I don’t like my job, it’s not that I don’t like the people, it’s that trying to spend all day being chipper and personable is wearing me the fuck out. I wonder, sometimes, if this is how actors feel at the end of a difficult scene. It’s exhausting being someone else.

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There has been peace between the humans and the animals since we decided to let Pixel wander outdoors. She’s been going out now for a little over a week and I don’t think she’s ever left the back yard. I sit out here (I’m outside now) and watch her go bonkers sometimes just because it’s entertaining. She stalks and runs and is just generally an insane (which is to say normal) cat. She doesn’t wake us up crying at crazy hours of the morning now. It must help her run all her energy out. She comes right back in around 10. I walk out and call her and she comes almost as obediently as a dog….almost.

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I’ve written two [very] short stories in two days, neither took more than ten minutes. It comes and goes, this urge to write. I’m hoping this time to get myself into a habit of writing so that I can keep going even when the urge isn’t there. I used to write so much more, especially here.

I’m battling against myself to try to be more honest and open. My reclusiveness is the source of a lot of my issues, I think.

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I’ll consider it a success when I can write here regularly about what’s going on with my family. I keep telling myself I’d probably get a flood of readers at the very least since everything that goes on with them is one big, hillbilly soap opera.

 

Anyway. I’d like to get some kind of exercise in before the day is over. I’m not going to edit this. Screw the red pen police.