stream of consciousness

Not responding right away teaches people not to expect that you’ll respond right away. I am slightly maniacle about setting boundaries with the people I work with. It wasn’t always so, but recently a guy called on the weekend and was super upset he couldn’t get ahold of me. It was because I’d set work hours on my phone and made it so only certain people could get through. Never mind that I have five phones because I’m fucking paranoid as hell even though I have nothing to hide, except the occasional pornography or omegle where I once found it interesting that I could get someone to get off. It sounds gross to admit, but I’m only about 80% good. I figure God understands the unrelenting curiosity and occasional need for stimulation, and maybe even endorses it for those who consider themselves at least 51% on the side of good vs evil. I started working with a whole boatload of guys that remind me of my younger days when I worked with a whole boatload of guys. Eventually I became a mom figure of sorts, where they’d come to talk to me about their lives at the end of their shifts. I enjoyed the role of listener, of knowing it could offer some kind of peace to folks who needed to know they were seen and heard. But these guys are stressed as hell and while on a zoom with one guy in his car I could feel how close he was to a heart attack. I felt sad I couldn’t help, couldn’t show him how whatever he was stressed about kind of didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. My psych didn’t take my smile at face value, and was real about it which I appreciated. He asked how it felt not having anyone to turn to and I was honest in telling him that I’m used to it, that I don’t want to make that my story so still try, still do things that are supremely uncomfortable, and that after all these years of practice am not really any closer to anyone, not as close as I’d like to be. He asked when it was worst and right away I could point to the weekends. To times when the kids are preoccupied or gone, to when there is silence, me, and the ticking of invisible clocks. Those are the worst. I feel restless, vulnerable to emotions, and sad. I’m aware of the bubble I’ve built for myself and of how insulation deteriorates over time. He told me to consider myself when I’m in my eighties and how much worse it would be if I don’t work to get over the hump now. I smile. I’m not sure how express how much of a statistical anomaly is the course of my life, and how that being so, am aware there are some statistics whose commonalities I will never escape. I can’t count on my eighties for direction any more than I could count on my thirties. For what it was worth, I told him planning was as much a fallacy as who we believe ourselves to be. Don’t think psych doctors are allowed to debate, not really anyway. I’m glad I picked a kid. He helps me shift thinking back to the truth of everything, that the heart is not the head and only one can be master.
Think some donuts are made only with oil and my superwoman lego is very much like the elf on the shelf. After ten years I still find her and the rope being intact warms my heart every time. The cats are screwing with my head. They’re like dogs sometimes and take my shoes to the most random places. Was in a hurry and couldn’t find them so had to grab high heels and god help me but high heels were not made for me. Sandals though. It’s also the kittens potpourri but I think that might not be the saying. Maybe it’s the kitten’s caboodle, chow, meow, or something along those lines. I declined steroids and stimulants today but am not sure if that was a good thing. I take on so many things that I know without a doubt that stimulants would only make it worse. I’d probably apply for a hundred jobs, interview for twenty and accept ten offers, cause there’s soooo much to learn. Don’t think this is the wisdom reincarnation. If so, I’d never write. I’d be in a mountain somewhere meditation. Maybe the next time.

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