I spent an hour on the phone with one of mine this evening and it really gave me the words of wisdom that I always need to hear.
My man gave me a good slap across the face earlier with regards to my perceived hopelessness. Thank you baby, I needed that.
Yet, it left me lacking in the realm of knowing what exactly needed to be done about it....
A few text messages with my friend helped me to recognize that I have had this lurking concern with regards to my relationship that was somehow becoming a concern today. I don't know why... I blame hormones. They are a hellova drug.
Thankfully, I have an incredible level of communication with O. I bit the bullet and asked him about it.
Thankfully, I have an incredible best friend. I was able to decompress with her about his answer.
I have this thing. This problem. Where I see someone light a match and I instantly run out of the place screaming "FIRE!! FIIIIIRRRRRRE!!" Point being that my concern is not a pressing issue.
The reality is that my relationship meets all of my needs at the present and that scares the living shit out of me. This ties into another problem that I have.... I am uncomfortable with calm.
I know this sounds crazy. Just bear in mind that I have been diagnosable for roughly half my life. The truth is that I grew up in such a way that I am conditioned to be comfortable in chaos. I get unnerved by peacefully happy calm periods in life. I don't like them. They make me listless and anxious. This tends to make me look for problems where they don't exist.
This lead me to finding an issue that could pose a potential problem in getting my future needs met. That's right, folks. I am so happy that it made me uncomfortable enough to start thinking about ways that I might not be happy in 15 fucking years. Like I said, I have been diagnosable for roughly half my life.
Oy vey...
That was my first "Aha!" moment of the day.
I recently had my second....
I have another problem. I am the world's best procrastinator. I know that plenty of you would like to challenge me on this; but, I will never get around to figuring out how to measure this, so just accept that I am better at it. Simultaneously, I am also a bit of an extremist and an impulsive train wreck.
I am really wondering how my boyfriend tolerates any of this... Someone give him a medal for me, k?
Almost a year ago, I came up with this concept for a book. It was a bit extreme and raw and not at all realistic. Especially for a single mom going into her senior year of undergraduate and trying to apply for graduate programs whilst being involved in a custody dispute... Phew! Just saying all of that was exhausting!
Point being that my procrastination won out and my impulsively brilliant idea was abandoned. *sigh*
Suddenly, I realized the following:
- I have two weeks until I start my master's program
- Even once I start my master's program, I only have classes two nights a week at the most
- My daughter is in pre-school all day Monday-Friday and spends half of the weekends with her father
- I don't have a job and I don't really want or need a full-time job
- I have taken out student loans to cover my living expenses while I am finishing up my degree
- Once I have finished the first year and a half of my program, I will be forced to start working more heavily to earn my practicum hours
- I will then be entering my career and pushing ahead full force with that
LIGHT BULB MOMENT HERE!!!
I will spend the next year and a half working on and researching my book!!
It is so genius! I almost can't believe that I came up with it. I have the time. I have the ability. I have the material. I have wanted to do it for years!
It makes so much sense to me! This is why I have been so freaking bored and ho hum these last few weeks. I have really been beating myself up for not being self motivated or a good self starter about shit like house work so that I can get started on reading all of these books that I have gathered for research.
Fuck the god damned house work. I am not built for that shit anyways.... Seriously, I detest housework. I can do it... I just get little to no pleasure out of it. Don't get me wrong... I love a clean and organized environment.... I am just a lazy procrastinator who would rather be cranking out a 10 page paper than putting laundry away or vacuuming.
A friend of mine has told me about starting his book. I remember feeling this seething flash of jealousy and longing. Just this wish to be doing the same.
Well... fuck it. I will....
I love to write. I have a passion and a cause. I have doors that I need to open and doors that I need to close. I have a lot to do and a lot to say.
My primary told me something that I will never forget "I don't know if you are cut out to be a therapist. A therapist has to be a good listener. You're a talker. And, honey, you have a lot to say that I think a lot of people need to hear!"
I think I can be damned good therapist; but, I agree with the latter portion of that. Time to bite the god damned bullet and take this whole writing thing seriously.
Carpe diem, right?
Or are the kids these days saying YOLO, or something stupid like that?
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