Woke up at 6:03AM as usual, made oatmeal which I consider to be as whole as healthy gets, stretched, prayed, went to the nanny gig at 7:00AM. In a hustle, I shook off a brrr before I opened the door. The second I walked in the 10-year-old munchkin/monster jumped out from behind a chair.
“BOO!!!!!!” She screamed with her hands up like claws. She got me. Friggin’ boo tag.
Since it’s too cold to play basketball in the mornings Miss. Anonymous has taught me what she calls “Boo-Tag,” and I call “Anxiety Attack.” The game goes like this: one of us counts to 20 as the other hides somewhere in the house. There’s the standard “ready or not here I come” warning, and the objective is to scare the crap out of the seeker the second before they see you.
My physiatrist told me that the worst thing to do for anxiety is avoid it, and recommended I put myself in situations that make me most anxious; like driving on highways, and watching scary movies. I figure since my mornings are now living nightmares, I’m taking doctor’s orders and enhancing my cognitive health.
After getting my blood pumping I went to job 2, which was great. It was picture day, and we had a photographer who started barking like a dog. Usually I hate getting my picture taken but this guy made it worth the pain. Plus, there were donuts. I had the NY Giants-frosted one even though they should be shamed to NFL hell.
Then I had to get cupcakes, because someone mentioned cake; I can’t talk about cakes and not eat cupcakes. I stopped at the bakery and picked two with the most grotesque amount of frosting. I ate both and immediately regretted it.
There’s been a lot of nothing since then. I fought with some insurance companies, wandered around, picking things up, putting them down, going to my laptop, googling dog behavior, texting for 20 minutes about diabolical plans, play dates, fireballs, and how Yoda’s name should be Young Yody. After that it was back to the computer, leaving my computer, etc., etc., etc.
Sometimes I think I spend my day walking around in circles, growing increasingly more anxious and stressed with each lap, until it’s nighttime; then I can’t sleep because I’m thinking about all the shit I didn’t get done. Procrastination will be the death of me…if I ever make it there.