I had a bad day today. I’m dealing with a lot of background stress and anxiety – the stuff that I can never quite pinpoint a reason for. It’s like I’m walking along under a shadow of impending doom and panic, but every time I look around, I can’t find an actual reason for it.
It’s frustrating. I like to be able to pinpoint these things, so that I can stick labels on them and file them neatly away somewhere.
Everything’s easier to deal with when it fits into a system of some kind.
Which brings me nicely to todays freak out.
So I had a late day and didn’t get into work on time. Knowing that I was going to need a release at the end of it, I made myself take a moment to iron my dobok for Taekwon Do tonight. Then I carried my TKD bag through town, partially paralyzing my shoulders and upper back while doing it.
(It’s full of sparring gear, dobok, water, laptop, and a multitude of other heavy things. Potentially a brick or two, even. In short? It’s fucking heavy. And huge.)
I get into work, and one of the volunteers that I work with finally showed up with this huge pile of papers spilling out of binders, and talking about the yearly financial audit that is coming up. And I lost it.
I’m at the point where my teeth literally ache every time I see that pile of papers. There’s no system of any sort going on. And guys? I need a system. It’s not filed unless the filing involves binders, and partitions, and colour coding.
So today after the volunteer had popped out for a meeting I attacked…I couldn’t take it any longer. I attacked with organisation. And Binders.
When I finally looked up from my hole punch and highlighter, it was 5.45pm, and I had 45 minutes to get out to Miramar – which, in case you’re not familiar with Wellington’s bus system: Bahahahaha. Hahaha. Ho. Ha. Right.
I tried anyway. Throwing my bag onto my shoulder, and potentially throwing my spine out in the process. Ignoring the sharp needles of pain originating from the strap, I hobble down the stairs, trying to hold myself upright with the banister, and a truly heroic dose of balance.
When I hit the ground floor I suddenly find something to pin all that vague unease on: I didn’t lock the deadbolt.
Hoisting my bag back onto the rapidly forming bruise that is my shoulder, I crawl back up the stairs, dig out my keys and lock the office door properly.
By the time I make it to the bus stop, I’m shaking. There’s a reason I don’t carry my laptop and books in my sports bag. It’s not designed for heavy things. It’s designed for carrying many light, awkwardly shaped things.
Also? That mess of papers on my desk. WHY??!! What kind of a system is that??!! It’s not a system! You could lose things that you didn’t even know you had to begin with in that system! WHERE IS THE COLOUR CODING??!!
Then I stand there. At the bus stop. Until 6.15pm, and not ONE bus for Miramar comes.
So I give up.
I drag myself, and my stupid bag home, and up the stairs, and fall into a limp puddle of exhaustion and holy-hell-my-back-hurts on my bed. And I’m still shaking.
This is hours later: I’ve eaten. I’ve watched one of my favorite ‘feel good’ movies. I tidied my room, and spent some quality time on organising my calendar for the year.
I came up with a plan for tomorrow (ass-crack of morning, I’m going to arm myself with binders and dividers, and post-it’s and I’m going to war with the accounting ‘system’. I’m hoping I don’t step on too many volunteer-toes.)
I’ve also taken the unusual step of talking in-depth to my flatties. I try to avoid going into great detail about my issues with them, because it’s not fair to unload too much on the people I live with. I mean, I do talk to them both, but I try to reserve all my emotionally dark stuff for the privileged ears of my therapist. Mostly because she’s got all the right kinds of training for dealing with me at my torn, fractured, and raw, worst.
So despite all of this? STILL I’m shaking.
I really needed to punch something tonight.