The paper’s upgraded to InDesign. Walter didn’t show up to help with the conversion today. Don’t know how that’s going to play out with the bosses; Eve definitely wasn’t happy he didn’t call in.
Too tired to write more tonight.
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There’s usually no warning. No hint. And when it subsides, I’m a mess.
But accomplished.
Manic episodes don’t hit that often, thank god. But when they do, don’t be standing in front of me.
It started with an overwhelming urge to get out and pick up groceries. I needed to pick up some protein, make or freeze a few meals. Now that I’m working two days a week, I want to get into preparing stuff to take in, something better than sandwiches or frozen dinners. And today wasn’t hell-frozen-over, so I walked back, a good 15 minute jaunt. Of course, the dumpster is still in the way and trying to lug the cart over it was its own Herculean effort.
I’d barely gotten stuff put away before it crashed into me. The stove top, the element basins and underneath. Scrubbed for a good half hour under those damned things. Really wish either (a) you could pull the top completely up, or (b) I had one of those new-fangled stoves with the flat ceramic surface.
Once the ingredients for a casserole were cut up and water in the pot for pasta, I was attacking the bathroom. Scrub scrub scrub. Then back to the kitchen. And the bedroom, mirrors, electronics in the living room.
My fingers ache.
I finally calmed down around the time the casserole finished baking in the oven. Now I have to try and unwind and fall asleep early. Gotta go into the office tomorrow and get the paper set up for InDesign. Which is going to bring its own mania.
Yes, Laura. I know. Breathe.
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I need to remember this phrase. I have to put more effort into just writing, or rewriting the play. Stop focusing so hard on finding the gemstones. Dig out the coal first, then compress it with enough weight until it becomes a diamond.
Same thing with this blog. I’ve been holding back.
Too bad it doesn’t end tonight. I just don’t have anything to say.
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I was supposed to be a five hour shift. Last week was an anomaly they said. Eight and a half hours later, I went home.
Don’t get me wrong, the hours are needed. The money is needed. I just wish I could figure out how this job works. Remember how I said I hate Pagemaker? I would kill it with a shovel if I could. Make one mistake and you have to start over, it’s that bad. And the hyphenation issue still isn’t resolved. One of the bosses brought me into the office and pretty much assured me that we’re going over to InDesign asap. God I hope so.
These hours are gonna trip me up if they don’t ease off a bit. I can’t do late nights any longer. I put in my time for a decade, and one of the things it cost me was a relationship. I won’t lose my sanity over this.
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Andy Warhol was right. Now if we can just make sure our Mayor’s time is up.
Yup, that’s all I have tonight. Blame it on the cold.
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The good? No anxiety attacks today.
The bad? My cold has gotten a lot worse. Nearly lost my voice for a good portion of the day.
The good? I slept until 2pm because I needed the rest.
The bad? I slept until 2pm because my body wouldn’t let me get up.
The good? I got just over 50% in the Oscar pool.
The bad? Carey West kicked my ass. PLUS, I couldn’t go to KAZ’s Oscar party.
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It was a good day. A very good day.
Lazy morning/afternoon, dinner with Kevin and my dad. Somehow Kevin had managed an in to bringing up the topic of my brothers coming to my last psychiatric appointment. Right, he was thinking about having a hamburger because we were going to grab burgers on Monday after the appointment but the Hero shop at Fairview Mall didn’t have any tables. You’ve never seen a conversation detour so fast. Which yeah, I had a feeling would happen. And 10 minutes later I’d stepped out to use the loo and apparently my dad then brought up the subject to which Kevin then said, “you know it’s open to anyone”. And my father pretty much shivered in a “never gonna happen” way.
Still a good day.
Went to Subspace, ran door from 8-10. Good crowd, not too packed. Awesome nibbles as always, scenes that… there’s an expression. “Your kink is not my kink, and that’s okay”. To which I’d have to add… “And pretty hot to watch.”
Still a good day.
I get off shift, grab a bottle of water. Settle in with my e-cig. Have conversations.
And then I feel it. It’s a slow build, almost like it’s ramping up at half-speed. I can get in front of it. I know what’s going on.
I take my Lorazepam.
My tongue is so dry it won’t dissolve under it.
And the attack.
Comes.
It’s wave after wave. I escape into the lobby. Well, it’s called a lobby even though the place is in an industrial complex and while there’s a table and couches, the outside is separated by a garage door. It cool. Quiet.
I breathe. Inhale. Exhale.
Calm returns. I continue breathing.
And I make the choice to head home. It’s hard to forget what just happened when you’re trying to start a new conversation.
I’m told I’m shaking. I guess I was. I bundle up, put my mp3 player on. Trudge out into the new fallen snow. Hop on the Dufferin bus. At King Street, it’s getting full. By Queen Street, I can’t breathe.
The attack wasn’t over. That’s just Round 1. Here comes the tsunami.
Out at College Street. Take the streetcar through the city, east to home. Listen to the music. Lean against the window. Close my eyes.
Twenty minutes later, I’m myself again.
And after that, I’m home.
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I am both inside my head and outside my body. I can feel the anxiety attack approaching like a tidal wave; can rationalize that it is nothing but a chemical imbalance and holds no sway over who I truly am. I can, and did, take lorazepam to counteract the assault before it even begins.
And yet. Despite this knowledge, the preventative measures. I feel powerless. A battered flag, flapping in 100 mph winds. Untethered.
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Rereading a scene I wrote with my friend Kate, back in 2010. Damn, we’re good.
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The plague could be worse. If I was smoking I’m sure the cough would be 10x worse. Not that it can’t/won’t get worse. But man. Add to that this feels like (and probably is) the coldest winter in the past 5-6 years. I still got myself out to pay the month-end bills and get cold meds, and while it was sunny, but the wind was like pinpricks on my face.
I’m staying in Friday, if I can help it.
Left another message for the recruiter. I hope he calls back. I want/need the extra work.
