Things I Do When I’m Stressed

Never let it be said that I lack self awareness. Mind, this doesn’t mean that I’m a lovely, perfect individual. No, no, it’s just that I know how I can be and am generally able to predict how I’ll behave in different situations. SOMEtimes I can even head off the worst of it before much damage is done.

See? Aren’t I just très ultra fabolicious!?

I was in full angst bloom yesterday so all my many personality flaws were on ostentatious parade.

I snap at friends who are trying to help AND, more often than not, are doing a grand job of it. I know, I know — what an asshole!

Jen was doing the tippy tappy on my iPad’s mini keyboard yesterday. She was transcribing all that the good nurse practitioner was telling us. This was faster, easier and more complete than attempting to sign all that was being said. Given the fear and agitation we were both rockin', our respective ASL super powers were just not up to par. Typing and reading were.

What was my cantankeratudedness about? She, like all of us, corrects her typos as she goes along. Jen's fast but what I really wanted from the nurse was for her to download all she had to say PLUS what the future holds directly into my brain pan. Don't correct your damn typos — I want ALL info now, NOW, NOW! 

If our roles were reversed I’d do the very same thing.

Back when I was a music major, my flute prof gave me NO end of grief when I’d stop playing a piece in order to correct some flub I’d made. NO she’d yell, play the entire piece through — start to finish — and THEN go back and work on the trouble spots. So very hard to do.

I believe I succeeded in keeping my petulant crabbing at bay. Possibly. In any case, I’ll beg Jen’s forgiveness this morning.

I eat too much.

You see as Mister Sherman Alexie famously quipped I’m an emotional eater. Whenever I have an emotion, I eat. So, now that I’m jam-packed full of tension, big sad, fear, anger and panic, I REALLY want to eat a LOT.

I woke at midnight in absolute and pathetically dire need of a piece of that lovely gold cake with white frosting that Jen and I picked up at Saint Fratelli's. Now, just so’s ya know, I hadn’t had a piece of it yet. No, when I opened up that white pasteboard box yesterday, it was to section off a slice the size of the Bermuda Triangle for The Amazing Bob. The goal, of course, was for him to lose his panic, fear and sadness in all that awesome, mystical, sugary goodness.

Did it work? Eh, briefly.

In any case, I managed to not eat any cake in the wee hours of this morning but fell victim to its sweet charms just now.

I only mention it but my tremendous sister Celeste, Jen and TAB, apart from the cake that is, have no interest in food when under great pressure. They can’t/won’t eat. Why can’t I be like that? Christ on Chocolate-Espresso Dacquoise, I’d be so awesomely trim!

Drinking — too much, too much.

Here’s what I need to do. At absolute most I can allow myself one, JUST one, glass of wine a day. I can sub in a cocktail on occasion but, again JUST one.

Invariably, when I’m dancing the tension tango, I violate this self imposed edict. The evening before the blood tests (knowing that the next day's exams were unlikely to result in news that tuxedo cats are panaceas and we only need to adopt three more in order for TAB to be ALL better) I had three, count ‘em THREE chocolately concoctions crafted by my fav bartender Wendy. Last night I had two rather large shots of my beloved Jamo. OK, given the Plus size of the glass, I guess I had four.

Sigh

Yes, I was up with Hot Flashes of the Damned most of the night.

When will I learn?!

Also too — Jen's a saint but I imagine y'all had guessed that one already.