I shouldn’t touch something that’s broken…when I’m in a very broken mood. Gah.

**Added** I’m working on it…slowly. Brain is not wired to do this right now.

Don’t even ask how I managed to delete my design…I will have the rustic look back up shortly.

I can be calculative, so a coworker has stated, analyzing a situation and playing the appropriate persona. Growing up as a Jehovah’s Witness honed my abilities as I learned to survive in a world with hypocrites and falsities. Adaptation has been the key over the years and I have also sidestepped my prior introverted nature. Many don’t see the outgoing and aggressive personality I have but I also don’t share it with everyone. At the same time, I don’t purposely mislead anyone; I share truths. When I tell others what I think of them, I speak realistically, though at times unable to keep my thoughts and voice contained when I should.

Betrayal, lying, dishonesty, all words used to describe anything but the truth and apparently I am quite successful in these actions. It is amazing how each time I catch myself, I suffer, I wake up from the shock, the realization that I have hidden feelings from my own mind, I continue to deceive. No subconscious or purposeful repeated mental mantras of “you don’t care” can ever prepare me for the “I do care” that eventually slams the gut and tear ducts, surpassing any physical pain.

Reality is never quite as perceived. I can speak of indifference, think “it doesn’t matter” but indeed it does.

People making stupid mistakes still exist around me but I have managed to survive. Work is extremely stressful these days but so many things make it worthwhile and alas, I plod along. Okay, trip and stumble and frantically look for the end, but still, moving on.  I’m tired, Ash is full of endless questions, but I have reason to smile each day.

I feel very much alive these days, whether or not it’s because my emotions are fluctuating in every direction, I really don’t care.  I’m enjoying the people and simple things of each day which make me laugh.  When I look at someone, smiling, and and respond to the question “how are you?” my answer of “doing great” is honest.

I’d just rather be this happy snuggling in bed right now; the office sceniario isn’t quite as fun.
There are many things I’d love to write about but I’m extremely busy. Things are pretty much hanging out in the middle of resolution land, so substancial updates will have to follow in the future.

I am having a very difficult time right now dealing with repercussions of other peoples’ errors. Any issues created by myself, I deal with, all and I suck up and manage because I fucked up or made a stupid mistake and have to suffer the consequences. But I’m am having a tough time “dealing”, coping, whatever this crap is called…without hitting the panic button. The logical, person of reason, one who must have balance and order is freaking out and not handling things very well. Outside, sure, I’m the usual but inside, I’m screaming “what the fuck did I do this time?”

I’m also looking for a hole to hide in, after I make it through my work day, and sweat the anger out through spinning. I am furious and I can’t seem to shake it; I feel hopeless with no options in front of me.

This evening was big in the furniture rearranging department. My couch from Sarah is in its place downstairs, but I am still unhappy with my room, my lack of space. Everything does not have a specific spot and it is bugging me. At this rate, I’ll probably be rearranging some more tomorrow until I’m content.

I feel like I’m in a box. Spending the last two days in bed, medicated in hopes of surviving this cold, the walls have closed in. I feel like throwing a hissyfit because the floors have a tissue or a toy in my way. They’re not perfectly free of stuff, and each item in my path sends a zap to my panic button and I am devastated, unsatisfied with little things, with everything, with life.

I need space.  It doesn’t matter the size of a room, no how many items are within, I just need everything in it’s place…away from the floor, away from my stumbling toes and spazzy hands and arms that bump everything.  Growing up, I had it easy, with tile floors constantly clear of anything so as not to trip my unsuspecting mother, blind to the little things (everything, too).  There was little clutter for her sake and apparently I thrived in such an environment.  Still do, though I rarely find it.
The largest sign in determining if I’ve been depressed or not quite so perky as usual is to see how much clutter there is around me.  It is when I discover the clutter on the way up that I then embark on a cleaning frenzy.  Today, I wasn’t cleaning. I was rearranging.  And while that sounds similar to others, it is so very different for me. I move things to feel better, to put something in place, even if my life is chaotic, in disarray. Unfortunately, in the process of moving furniture around, I destroyed some of my “wide open spaces” and now my movement through the room is far from graceful.

My mind is restless, my body still burning with a slight fever, but I will have to force myself to rest for now.