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My Favorite Game

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Motivation is as difficult for me as heavy lifting for other people. I can't seem to find my way out of the morass at times. I wish I could. Procrastination is the name of my favorite game of self-sabotage. I've been playing it since I was a kid, and I've nearly perfected it.

I do not do those things which I know I need to do if they are unpleasant tasks. I have a pair of refrigerators sitting in my kitchen right now, one waiting to be cleaned, the other waiting to be emptied. I don't suppose the dishrag fairy is going to come along anytime soon to wash the new fridge so I can transfer over my food, but it's something I hate doing, so I'm simply avoiding the task. Even writing this post is a clear avoidance mechanism.

I chose to go ahead and write, though, in the hopes that maybe putting my thoughts down here will help me find a way through the labyrinth that is my mind. The guilt that comes from NOT doing what I need to do, even coupled with the satisfaction of a job well done and complete, is insufficient motivation for me to get up and go do it.

At most I do these jobs in chunks. I wish I understood why they prey on my mind so much. Is my entire life merely the pursuit of some kind of pleasure? I hope not, but I rather fear it is, and that makes me sad. I don't know how to change that.

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Spilled Milk

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Some days it’s laugh or cry, and I gotta laugh. I do need to say something somewhere about this whole mess I've been in because I realized last night that keeping the absolute rage bottled up within me is taking its toll in several ways. My eating has been demolished and my rage issues (gee? didn't I conquer those once?) have come screaming back, just to name two.

I got a chocolate frosty all over some books and papers last night and had a complete screaming meltdown that ended in childish, frustrated tears. Think about it – I was literally crying over spilled milk! Sooooo cliché! The news about my cousin losing her baby at the end of the first trimester came about 10 minutes later. Talk about perspective. It made me feel like an ass, but I have always been the one to hold anger and rage inside and let it fester because I’m afraid to let it out. That meltdown, however puerile in the moment, was a great catharsis for me. (I love the word "cathartic" this week!

It makes me think of the movie Hocus Pocus where Sarah Jessica Parker starts chanting in a sing-song voice, "A-MOK, a-MOK, a-MOK, a-MOK, a-MOK!" before getting socked in the gut by Winifred, her witch of a sister. Such innocent fun. ;-P

Well, I had outstanding therapy tonight in the form of the world's most adorablest widdle chubby baby boy wif da CUUUUUUTEST teeny toes....nom nom nom. Man. Babies are therapy like nothing else in the world.

Perspective. I haz some.