Thursday, March 27, 2014

The Horrors

I can almost predict the kind of day I'll have by the time I stumble to my coffee in the morning.  Today the Horrors were back, starting with sighing and whining: what do I really want to do today?  Do I have to do what I have to do today?  It's the same thing every damn day.  When I get paid on Friday, how much of my bills will it pay? 

This high-pitched donkey's song goes on for a while as I try to get myself over to the gratitude side.  Thank you for money in the bank.  Thank you for work to do.  Thank you for -- when can I pay that credit card off?  How cold is it outside?  I wish I was writing a novel.  If I just got $12... -- shit.  OK.  Start over.  Thank you for soap and hot water.  Thank you for Daisy...

And so it goes.  My stomach feels like it's about to ripped open and fed to hungry eaglets and I can rate my anxiety by how quickly I switch to gratitude from complaining or calculating.
Usually it calms down when I actually get Daisy out on the street but it starts climbing when I finish my couple of hours for My Other Life and it's coming up on the afternoon walks and I haven't eaten and it's time to do My Life.

Yesterday was a rare day off from the Horrors, which have been mounting through illness and dog crises all winter but they were back in full sail today, including having to stop at my apartment in the middle of the afternoon dogs to have diarrhea.  My mouth was dry, I was shaking, I was tapping my teeth together in lieu of aggressively grinding them, I headed straight for the Klonopin.

I'm wondering if I can make a deal with God: I'll tithe 5% if you get me those two gigs from My Other Life.  But I don't like the idea, right now, of testing him, of being failed by him.  Too much is at stake, including my desire to believe.

So I spent the rest of the dog walks singing that song from A Chorus Line, "I Really Need this Job," and trying not to scheme or apportion money I don't have.  One good thing about being in a period of relative skintness is that scheming is pointless.  I have to give up imagining what bill I'll pay off when and be happy that I've lost the habit of using my credit cards so that even a minimum payment will be a reduction.  In a more sanguine state, I would say this is a blessing.  Today it was a shouted command: Stop thinking....!

Some of it was made worse by having to wash my hair, find some better duds and go to dinner and a lecture on Pope Francis.  My friends just lost their dog gig and no one can feel sorrier for them than I because it's happened so much. Plus I was supposed to watch over the dog they watch over next week so kiss my share goodbye.

The lecture was good but mostly confirmed facts and feelings I had about the Pontiff already.  I stopped afterwards to ask about Francis's Marionist leanings -- I thought he was Marionist in orientation but wanted to be sure before committing myself in writing.  Yes, he is and has her eight-pointed star on his coat-of-arms.
So my observations of his attitude toward Mary and the rosary aren't off base and that's a huge relief in a field of questions that seem impossible to answer. 

I have indigestion now and I'm tired and wired.  Tomorrow I have to do the same damn things I did today.

I hope I'm not held in the claws of anxiety as I do them.

1 comment:

Hilary said...

Love the picture. It's so perfect to describe anxiety! I read the psalms sometimes and they can make me feel better about my life because they'll say and I paraphrase even though thousands are against me I can survive with you by my side, Lord, or something about people who want to kill the writer. Then I think our problems are so often a bit different. We don't normally have armies of thousands working to destroy us. But when the "horrors" come (I do like that word) it doesn't seem to matter--it seems just as overwhelming. I have turned to the psalms in the midst of an anxiety attack but the words start to make sense as the anxiety is dissipating on its own. Hard to feel the power of the words in the throes of anxiety.