Sometimes I imagine myself with a cup that contains all the Things I Can Deal With. I'm going along, minding my beeswax, carrying the cup around.
In my head, it's very fancy. Like one of the super gaudy, fake Holy Grails in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.
So I'm carrying this boss-ass fancy cup around in my head (cause it's a metaphor cup). I'm working my 10 hour days (or more) so I can have Fridays off. I'm going here and there. I'm insanely busy.
And the cup is filling up. So slowly that I don't really notice.
The one day, my fancy cup is full. And I have HAD IT.
I turn into my mom. One second I'm fine. I'm trying to game out in my head how to go here and there and see all my friends and talk to my relatives and do this show and that show and take care of the cats and then I just picture myself as my mother.
I can see myself throwing my hands up in the air and screaming-- I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!!
This is not what I actually do.
I make more and more frantic lists, until I am surrounded by tiny scraps of paper that I can't even decipher any more. I forget how to decide what order I should do things in. I drink cherry vodka in my soda and struggle to remember how to breathe like a normal person. I decide to quit smoking, which doesn't help.
I lay flat on the floor and stare at the ceiling, trying to decide how to do things, in what order, and notice how many gross dust bunnies are on the floor. I get up because I don't want to look at them, and the cat is licking my hair.
I tell my therapist that I feel like I am fucking up everything. ALL the things. When she asks me what I mean by everything, I can't really answer. Everything. All the things.
It's three days since I had a cigarette. I don't want to punch anyone, like usual when I quit smoking. I do feel a little like I need to cry, but I decide not to. I don't have time for that.
I should remake all the lists into a super list that makes more sense. I have not taken a shower yet today.
I need to apply to various art galleries. I need to do laundry and clean up the gross dust bunnies. I should put on a bra.
I am an introvert who does a very convincing imitation of an extravert. If I don't get some time away from all the people and the things, I start to lose it. (Josh doesn't count as time away from people. He lives here.)
I guess the point I'm rambling towards is-- I need to empty out my fancy cup. No wait, that sounds weird.
I am feeling a little (A LOT) burned out right now. This whole artist thing-- the better it goes, the more time and energy it eats. It's a marathon, not a sprint. So if life is making you feel a little weird and floaty and burned out and oh god I WILL NEVER GET THIS ALL DONE-- I feel you.
I am going to empty the Things I Can Deal With cup by reading magazines and having quiet time. I'm going to clean up a little and hug my honey and whichever cat will allow itself to be hugged. I'm going to go to a real movie in an actual theater and sit in the dark with popcorn. I'm going to make pickles and (vegetarian) meatballs. I'm going to take a bath and read a book about Superman.
I will acknowledge that I feel burned out and I will take care of myself. I will eat ice cream and watch a dumb video. I will pet a kitty belly. I won't answer the phone all weekend, and I am glad that my radio interview got rescheduled.
I don't have a great way to end this. So I'm just going to go hang out with Josh for awhile.