stress

I am not an anxious person, usually. You know, unless I am asleep. I just don't sweat the small stuff. I left that to Mom. To quote Steel Magnolias, "I never worry, because I know you are worried enough for the both of us." There are things that make me anxious, however. The top on that list, first by a long stretch, is money. Kevin and I have more than enough, but I have learned through years of crisis that there is no such thing as enough. And everything costs too much. So maybe the fact that I spent so much money recently is the cause of my anxiety, the reason I had to visit the doctor.

I went to the doctor on the advice of a medical website. My doctor is a lovely woman with great hair, a low voice and attentive manner. She explained things and asked questions, listening afterward for the answer. To be on the safe side, she gave me a pregnancy test and did blood work to look at my thyroid activity. She asked about family and personal medical history and for details about my nightmares. It honestly felt like a counseling session. We discussed work, exercise, downtime and marriage.

(I know I will need to state these things directly: I am NOT pregnant. And our conversation regarding marriage was entirely positive.)

Her diagnosis: stress. She is concerned, given family medical history, about risks of anxiety and depression. "You need to lower your stress levels," she told me. "But I'm not sure what behavioral changes to suggest." I don't smoke, drink, consume caffeine, stay up late, sleep in, do work in bed, have the TV on as I sleep or work overtime, she had little to prohibit me. She did say that I need to exercise more and meditate before bed.

But there's one problem with that: those things are chores. They take time and discipline to carry out, precisely the two things I'm running low on. The reason I feel anxious before bed and when I wake is because I don't have enough time, while my to-do list grows. Now I'm told to take a half hour each night to meditate, and another to exercise (but not in that order). That very suggestion stresses me out, as I mentally rearrange my routine and think about the things I am already not doing. Like writing. I haven't touched OneNote since I had to start packing for the move.

This is not to say that I have an all-work-no-play life. The "chores" that I've been doing are fun: shopping from my registry, rearranging furniture, printing and hanging pictures, etc. I have a fabulous plan for a new shelf. But I don't have time for everything I want to do.

I tried to manage my time better, to schedule myself so that I could get around to more, but the micro-schedule made my stomach knot up. I can't tolerate my life being broken down into ten-minute increments. Especially since I know I will break it. My time is not entirely my own anymore, and I have to be flexible if I want to see my husband (who at this very moment is getting what he calls "a taste of his own medicine", waiting at home while I work late). So most of what I assign myself to do in the evenings gets scrapped.

I make accommodations, like cooking on Sunday to have weekday left overs. (You should ask me about my stuffing casserole.) I do all my reading on the bus and avoid cracking a book at home. I also do a lot of planning and list-making at work. If I need to make calls, that happens on my lunch break.

And I try to wake up early. That is really the only solution that will work. Then I can make lunch, so I don't panic when swiping my credit card for over-priced fatty food that makes me fear for my budget and my waist. Then I can work out, so I don't do it too close to bed and raise my adrenaline levels before sleeping. Then I can read scriptures, because the day doesn't suck so much when I do. If I get up early enough I can even dress a little bit less like a hobo, maybe even wear my contacts, and feel more energized at work.

But it is hard to wake up early. To do so means going to bed earlier and thus seeing my husband less, or being sleep deprived, nodding off on the bus and not getting in any leisure reading time.

I try to find a solution, but I go around in circles 'til I'm very very dizzy. And I realize that I am getting too anxious about decreasing my stress. Somehow I don't think this is what the doctor had in mind.

and the dog ate my homework

I have not posted in a long time. I have been busy. It is precisely when the most blog-worthy material is occurring that one has the least time to write.

Since last we met, I have moved. Thrice. Kevin promises that it will be the last time for a good long while. We've even planned out how many triple bunk beds we can fit in our second bedroom and thus how many kids we can have before a larger place is necessitated. By my reckoning the number is 12, but come unlucky child 13 and we'll have to upgrade to a three-bedroom. Luckily that won't be for five or six years, and I'll have plenty of cheap labor to help me pack.

I have also, in the past nine months, planned and executed a wedding. Quite successfully, I might add. I did less well with the honeymoon. (Please don't be juvenile.) Kevin and I discovered that not only did we spend the week in varying degrees of viral-induced agony, but we also don't have a single picture of us together from our honeymoon. I think this calls for a second one, if only to fill the frame I have set aside on an otherwise blank wall for just such a Kodak moment.

I have had two nieces. Yes, the labor was hard, but I came through it okay, and the girls are doing beautifully.

I turned twenty-five. For said birthday, I received OneNote, which has made organizing all my billions of fictive thoughts much easier. I feel ambitious to write again. Though, I promise you, I have not been spending time with my novels instead of my blog. I have been far too busy for either. That will change, however. Though I will never receive a penny for my work, I vow to waste years of my life scribbling away (or tip-tapping away on Eddie, my beloved laptop) on various pieces of aspiring literature.

I survived work at the Co-op during a championship football season. I changed my name. Twice. I have said positive things about Relief Society. I have had approximately 250 nightmares. I have been introduced to Sports Night. I got to spend time with Kevin, which we all know never happened during the courtship. I have built a registry and then purchased nearly everything on it. I have ordered pictures printed and hung a ridiculous number of frames. I am decorating an apartment against the event that we ever have people over to see it. I read regularly. I clean, do laundry, grocery shop, and I even try to make my husband dinner occasionally (it's not working: he's lost weight. I've gained it.)

Anyway, that's why I haven't written.

If you want, you can blame Facebook, which makes emotional outlets so much more accessible. But I'm done with Facebook and its cheap allurements. I have a rant about that, if you care to hear it. In fact, I have several things I can write about (and may eventually.) If anyone is still reading, I am open to suggestions, requests, ransom demands, etc. Popular topics on my mind include why I hate my job and why I can't leave it; what I'm not doing with my talents; my Marxist views on public transit (which is really part of a larger expose' on the general goings-on of the public transit universe); and married life: so, how is it?

And I promise to be better from now on.