I don't understand the ins and outs of what happens to the little messages once they get sucked into the computer. Or how they get lost or found. This aggravates me because I do not have an understanding about what to do. And I am still feeling responsible even though I insisted I washed my hands of it. So I am not relinquishing utter responsibility. Which means, I still consider it my problem. I would like it to go away like the fungus on my toe. Fast. Part of me is hanging on waiting for them to fix it. And the other part is stamping her foot and saying no, no, and hell no.
This requires lots of energy. I squeeze my neck tight, grip in my jaw. Race around and pace and tap my fingers and have what my husband calls "little fits." My little fits usually consist of me standing there one minute, typing while standing (because I am hyper) and he is sitting quietly as usual, reading and eating. Then I jolt and shake around as though I am having a seizure and slap my hands in the air and sometimes wack them on my legs.
"What's wrong?" he says, appalled and disturbed by his wife, the maniac, out of his peaceful reverie. And of course, his unsettling gives me some mean satisfaction. Crazy Brain likes to make waves. It is a good way to move some of its energy out. Why else do you think the crazies on the street who are yelling come right up to YOU instead of doing it in a lone alley? Husband's sensible reaction to my mania propels me into further crazy brain. I want to unwind him a bit more. Maybe I can pass it off to him completely! I would gladly trade in my vagina for a penis in that moment if only he could take on my issue.
"What do you mean?" I say as non-chalantly as possible, like he is insane. Now I have a problem with computers, work, and my husband. He is pissed off. This is sort of how it works. All I want is escape, but the issue is not resolved, so I am raging that I have to be involved. And somewhere inside, the thought is that rage will scare it away. Like the cowardly lion's roar. But in fact, all of this is just pulling tighter and tighter without release till my brain feels like it is a small nut being squeezed into smithereens. And problems ensue.
In what I call good movement, (and I am not talking about toilet movements-though this would not be unusual for me) you have push and pull going on. In quality movement, this is what allows lightness. Push into the earth with your feet, and the earth pushes up into you. This sucks the line of movement from your toes all the way up your body until you are drawn inside yourself. It is like pulling the cord on the duffle bag or the garbage bag. Then you are free to lift and move and raise your arms like a bird, or just flip the bird! It feels wonderful, stable, strong.
But when you have crazy brain, it is a different kind of movement--that of gripping. Everything is being sucked inside, as though you are sinking in quicksand, and instead of lightness, you move deep into yourself as though you are being turned inside out. There is no lightness, no humor, no twinkle toes in the sky--this falling in to yourself is resisted as you grab and try to touch something outside this. Like a husband who is reading his surf magazine. Everything becomes a tantamount effort.
What can you do? Let it drop...? Dump it out. Let yourself sag? Then you have your mouth dragging along the floor, and the eyes downcast, staring at the ground as though the sun will never come out to play again. If you do this in the midst of a pushup style pose, and you are in my class, this will give me one of those obvious fits I mentioned earlier. And it will be deserved. You may as well have smashed a brick into my funny bone. This collapses you in your spine, and it collapses you figuratively. So once again, I ask, what do you do besides squeezing yourself like a boa constrictor or "dumping" when the situation is dismal?
FORECAST: I WILL ANSWER THIS IN A PARAGRAPH EXACTLY.
There's nothing more irritating to someone with high anxiety than having to wait for answers. I dislike this in movies, in books, and even when I am pricing things for work, I seem to often blurt it out. I don't want to engage others in this kind of suspense, because I assume this could be their issue as well. So, I will answer. I will not be like those French deep movies that close with the blank screen and credits rolling without a discernible ending.
FIND ANSWER RIGHT HERE (this is what I wish the world would do for me, so I could have a bit less anxiety. I would like it if they posted these signs everywhere, like in the air when I am lost and driving): What I do in unfavorable moments, when I am not throwing fits, is watch it roll. The film of me is rolling and events are doing what they will do. I watch how disgusted I am, I mumble to myself (a bad habit that I can't excuse with senility), and I wonder how long it will stay. It is the visitor who stinks like old fish immediately. And then, if I keep watch for the this changing of the Guards, there is an instant that the scales tip. Suddenly my fingers are tapping away happily on the keys, I am breathing full into my chest, singing in my annoying loud tones, and I have stopped knitting my eyebrows together.
Things pass. And I am done with my fit.
Things always pass. It is the waiting that bothers me. Gotta keep making friends with Crazy Brain.
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