Posted: June 4, 2004 in Blogthings, Headspace

I think sanity is overrated.

Truly, I don’t think any one of us can get through our lives without being a little crazy. Of course, since I don’t have insight into anyone else’s life but my own, I can only describe my particular brand of craziness. But I’m fairly sure that most people can relate.

For instance, I avoid thinking about things that have to be done. Like, setting the alarm on Sunday night but shying away from the awareness that I’ll have to get up in a matter of mere hours in order to re-join the rat-race. Or, refusing to acknowledge the fact that in exactly one month and five days I’ll be getting my wisdom teeth pulled. Also, knowing what the checking account balance is but putting off the actual act of balancing the checkbook.

Things like that.

In order to keep control over my life, I choose the areas in which I let it get a little out of control. I leave the laundry unfolded and piled in the basket all week long, because folding it and putting it away is too damned tedious. I’ve never gotten the filing under control because, well, EW. And so we can never find a document we need in a timely manner. There are closets in the house that I just avoid opening altogether, that are just crying out to be organized. And don’t even get me started on the garage. Tedium brings me down. Chaos – of my own choosing – I can live with.

Sometimes, I sit still and quietly panic. We are as close to the edge as any other paycheck-to-paycheck family. Some days I’m optimistic about it, other days I feel like I’m a breath away from seeing it all burst into flames around me. Sometimes it feels like the fact that we’ve made it this long, successfully, is less because I’m a skilled money manager, and more because I pulled off some magic trick completely by accident.

I obsess about needing to know where the cat is at all times.

Calvin falls asleep with the TV on in the bedroom all the time. Most nights I fall asleep right along with him. But every once in a while I flip the fuck out that I can’t fall asleep the way I want to – in a darkened, silent room with the fan humming soothingly in the background. Then I bitch him out resoundingly, and he looks at me like, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I’ll plan the hell out of our dinner menus for the week, and do all of the grocery shopping, so that we won’t spend money going out to eat. Then I’ll declare, “I’m not cooking!” and we’ll go get wings and beer. I’ll get all motivated about my health and fitness, and plan out what I’m going to eat and when I’m going to work out. I’ll do okay for three days, and then say “Fuck it” and watch eight hours of TV and stuff my face with every snack food the cupboards and fridge has to offer.

Sometimes I don’t want anybody to talk to me. And then I get way impatient with people who try to interact with me when I’m not in the mood. This is especially mis-timed when it happens at work. I sit there with a smile pasted onto my face, internally fantasizing about being home for an ENTIRE WEEK, never getting out of my jammies, reading the whole time, and not speaking to ANYONE. Which is an odd thing to fantasize about.

I worry that there’s something very frightningly wrong with me.


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