Day 238

I need to preface what I am about to say with a statement: Not only do I love my son, I enjoy being with him. However, having him live in my house, another grown, adult person, with his own needs and proclivities, is driving me crazy. I want to reclaim my office, the place where he sleeps on a blow-up bed. I want to return to the routines that bring me comfort and ease. I want my old life back, the life I enjoyed before he moved in.

At the same time I appreciate the little lessons embedded in this experience. My anxiety level is obviously running a bit high. If I watch my anxiety very carefully, it is a great teacher. Today I observed this tendency that I have to get more and more active as my anxiety grows. I was telling my partner about my plan to rearrange the furniture in the whole house and my plan to buy a new computer. He suggested that perhaps this wasn't the best time to make major changes or major purchases. Of course it isn't but I couldn't see that when my anxiety was in the driver's seat.

I really hate it when he's right.

Day 237

I have a lot of "issues." I work very hard to deal with them. I talk and write and go to therapy. Sometimes, after a lot of work on an issue, I start to feel some sense of resolution, maybe even closure. I put the issue away; wrap it up in a tight little box and tie it off with a bow. I breath a sigh of relief, convinced that I am a better person.

The issue stays sealed away in the box for days, weeks, months, maybe even years, lying dormant, until one day it is awakened. It might be a twist of circumstance or decent into sloppy habits that brings it back to life. It breaks out of the box with a vengeance. I find myself grappling with an old demon. "Damn," I think, "I was certain that you were dead. What will it take? A stake through the heart? Unmitigated love?" I feel certain that I am not capable of either.

It's like that movie Groundhog Day only not so funny.

Day 236

I was keeping an eye on a friend's son today while she went to a job interview. I wanted to support my friend but seven year old boys are not always my favorite people. I had spent time with Oscar before and found it difficult to connect. He is obsessed with bodily functions: the conversation is littered with references to farting and pooping.

He started off today by telling me about a story he just read called The Day My Butt Went Psycho. I was doubtful that the book really existed until he produced it and offered to loan it to me. I declined but I was charmed.

When he started showing me his half chewed food as he ate I decided to play along. I said with as much gusto as I could muster, "What are you trying to do, make me puke???" He thought this was hilarious. Sometimes you just have to meet people where they are.

Day 235

Yesterday I looked in the newspaper job listings. There was not a single job for which I was qualified but not overqualified. I'm not looking for a job. Getting a job is more of a back-up plan in case my plans for self-employment don't pan out.

So now what? What if I fail as a writer and mediator and discover that I need a real job? What if I can't get a real job? These are the questions that woke me up at 5:00 a.m. The answer came to me like a premonition. The little voice in my head said: "Do meaningful work."

My mission is clear. Even if no one hires me or buys what I have to sell I must continue to do meaningful work. Meaningful work feeds the soul. Perhaps this is the part of myself I need to be concerned with feeding.

Day 234

I was hooked by the age of two. As the story goes, I developed an intolerance for milk at the age of one. The doctor advised my mother to give me sugar water in my bottle. I latched onto that bottle and refused to let go even after my brother came along 2 years later. My mother was embarrassed by me as a three year old still drinking from a bottle. I think that I figured out at this tender age that life is hard and a little taste of something sweet eases the pain.

I still live by that basic premise and I still long for that bottle of sugar water. Of course social convention dictates that I must find other, more socially acceptable, means of feeding my addiction. Instead of the baby bottle, I carry small pieces of chocolate in my purse.

Recently I came to the conclusion that the sugar is likely the cause of my chronic sinus problems. I didn't want to accept this fact because I knew that it would mean giving up an old, dear friend. I don't know what life will be like without the sugar water. Perhaps I will have to learn to face the pain head on. Damn.

Day 233

I was reading the book, On Writing by Steven King today. He implies that a writer must be courageous. This got me thinking about the difference between courage and fearlessness.

I used to work for a community college. Once as I was leaving a meeting, one of my coworkers said to me, "I really admire your courage, Debbie. You always say things that others are afraid to say." Immediately, I started reflecting on the complaints that I had verbalized during the meeting. Did I say something that would get me in trouble?

It turns out that I probably did. I was eventually forced out of my job for saying the wrong things at the wrong times. It wasn't so much that I was courageous. I just didn't seem to have as much fears as my coworkers.

Fear has many faces. It can be a sage that guides us to safety or a trickster that binds us in quicksand.

Day 232

Exhausted.