I set rules. Or rather, parameters. And I try to hold to them. I am going to bend them just a little bit today as I am feeling pushed or pulled. I am feeling stretched right now. And so...I am going to bitch for a bit. (I also have the Princess Bride on in the background which is perfect).
Today is 9 months of sobriety. I can and cannot believe it. In some ways I feel like I don't have to work at all, I just don't drink, and other times I feel like I am just working away and wonder if my good humor is a fake. If I am just a perky fraud. I also hate the word "perky." Is it weird to hate a word? Is that too petty? Perky makes me think of a skinny, annoyingly nice girl, with perfect white teeth and hair that is never out of place. Her name would be Candi and she would be just oh so sweet that you'd want to smack her the instant you saw her. That to me is the word perky. The killer is I know that I kind of am perky. Or rather I seem happy and in good spirits most of the time. The belly of spite and vitriol gets hidden with a crooked grin and chipped front tooth. (now I sound like a bizarre kid from some 1950's comic who says 'gee willikers.') AAAAAAAAAAAH!
I am so excited with all that is happening but do feel stretched thin. In order to have my dreams be some sort of reality I need to be doing this. And life also happens. That is the thing, getting sober doesn't mean that everything is then cheeries and puppy dogs. Life is sadly often like a David Lynch film, bizarre, confusing, frustrating, and wonderful. Memorable! Currently I want a week with nothing planned and no one bugging me. A week to get rested and start getting a handle on what needs to be done and when it should be done.
Currently my mother seems to be on a bit of a rampage. And some of it is being taken out on me. I am getting used to the idea of that she is who she is and things will not and cannot be changed. But man, she can take it out on those around her like nothing else. And what I really, really, really want - to be left alone to make this new change and studio work for me in the manner I need it to is not ok wth her. I need to justify everything I intend to do and why I am not moving everything in or why I choose to wipe my ass this way and not that way. It is exhausting! I am in the basement and I can hear her upstairs taking out this same wrath on my father. UFFFFFFFFFF DA!
I also don't think that my mom does not understand how much of a problem anxiety is for me. This change is all so exciting but I am feeling it. I am afraid. I want this but I am afraid. If I think too much of have to feel all that I need to make happen I can feel it physically. Shortness of breath, elevated heart beat, mild headache, knotty stomach. The hints of catatonia. (i made that word up. a combo of cartatonic/patagonia/ambrosia