i'm just all kinds of keyed up and nervous today. i'm trying to pack to go off for the weekend, and i think i'm about to lose my shit.
for starters, i obsess about packing. it's not difficult, really. some clean underwear, a change of clothes or two, a toothbrush, and you're set to go. but i always fuss about it. mostly, i spend a lot of time thinking. when it comes right down to it, i pack in about 5 minutes. then i spend the next two hours wondering what i forgot. never mind that if it were anything i truly needed i could go and buy it. that never calms the nerves. and i always think i'm going to overpack. so i pare it all down, then pare it down some more, then take out one last thing. then the panic hits, and i stuff the bag full to overflowing. do i ever use half the stuff i tote along? nope. *sigh*
plus, for some reason, i take half a library with me. something about the possibility of getting stuck in a train station or sitting in a cafè without reading material makes me insane. so i pack a few books, and then a notebook, and then stop to get some magazines Just In Case. perhaps i should talk to someone about this little problem.
and then, i had wednesday off. this was bad. it was bad because i didn't see anyone. i puttered around the house, messed around on the computer, did some shopping, and thought. my brain goes into overdrive when left alone. without fail, it zeroes in on all of the problems that are there, and then invents a few more for good measure.
i was thinking about the court case, and the parole payments i haven't been getting, and got all worked up about the fact that i have to call the parole officer *again* to find out what the deal is. the bitch should have, according to the court order, paid me back in full by now so i could get my medical bills paid off. it's nearly a year after the fact, and i still haven't seen much of the money. why is it that the victim has to do all the leg work for restitution? why do i have to call and beg for information? why does this thing not come to an end so i can put it all behind me?
i worried about work, too. i know i'm not performing up to my own standards, and probably not to others, either. there's a lot of stuff that needs to happen. and i have to make it happen. when i'm there, in the office, dealing with people, i vacillate between feeling competent and knowledgable and getting things done, and looking at the ringing phone and wanting to dive under my desk. i wish the curve were a little more stable.
by this time, my brain has taken a sharp turn off the ocean drive over the cliff, and i'm reciting all the mistakes i've made, relationships i've fucked up, public humiliations i've endured, kicking myself for still smoking, for not calling my grandmother, for not keeping in touch with friends, for not volunteering more... oh, the list goes on and on. i end up feeling small and stupid and mean and miserable and worthless, my stomach gets all queasy, and i can't eat, and i can't shut my brain down.
then there's the fact that i feel like a bad friend going away for the weekend. i'm not, really, but it feels that way. ChicaBeanie and her girlfriend are moving in a few weeks; the runway is getting shorter and shorter, and i want to spend time with them. they have more things filling up their calendar every day as they plan the move - and it's a big one, too. so there aren't many windows of opportunity to get together. by going away this weekend, i'm shutting out another few days. CB doesn't mind, i don't think. or maybe she does, and she's being kind about it. maybe she thinks i'm trading our friendship for a chance to get out of town, which, really, i could do any time. see? my brain is manufacturing shit. she did say she doesn't mind. and my brain won't believe her.
and to top it all off, i had dreams this morning where everything went wrong. a friend of mine was there, but it wasn't him. you know how people you know show up in your dreams, and they look all different, but you know it's them? like that. we were out somewhere in a cafè or coffeeshop and he was eating yellow birthday cake and it got all squinched up between his teeth, and it was all i could focus on. couldn't talk, just kept looking at his teeth.
then we were at his place. there was a small room with yellow walls and just enough room for a red futon on the floor. the kitchen was low, with 1940s linoleum, odd lamps stuck on the wall, and a dormer window. the living room was long, huge, with white walls and complicated Oriental rugs. in one end was a desk with a computer (black) and the rest of the room was filled with massage tables and chairs. he said sort of bashfully but proudly that this was what he did.
somehow, we ended up outside (there was a door from the living room, i think). we wandered around the yard, which was in elegant disarray, with a raised bed in the middle, edged in cobble stones. then we got caught in a sun shower as we walked down the road and as i danced in the puddles, someone cried out that i was naked. and i was. i was torn between revelling in it, dancing in the rain, and covering myself as i ran for shelter from prying eyes. and there were dogs somewhere in the dream, i think. and my boss was yelling at me. and i failed out of college, again (this is a recurring theme in my dreams for some reason).
i was so keyed up about so many different things that it all got translated into this dream. i woke up after that all off kilter. i wanted to go back to sleep and have a better dream, one where things worked, but i didn't have time. it's left me nervous all day.
gee, you think i need a vacation, perhaps?