I am currently in a stressed state somewhat akin to my feelings in the fall of 2009, and for those of you who experienced that season with me, you know it's time to duck for cover.
Stress is one of those things for me...it's not that I handle it poorly, it's just that I let it build up and get worse for a long time, thinking I can take it, and then all of a sudden one day--usually because of some kind of catalyst--I just can't take it any more. As always, the greatest stressor for me is when there is way more to do than there is time. I begin squandering the little time I do have left because at this point it's "Do I finish this project or do I go to the bathroom?" "Do I call this client or do I eat today?" Logic tells me that it's important to choose your priorities, but who's asking the girl who will skip going to the bathroom about "logic"?
I'm being slightly dramatic. I've only skipped a few meals because of work. And usually the one suffering in the bathroom department ends up being Sadie. In reality, many of the physical effects have been probably more related to my habit of "rehearsing" how to explain my problems and talking solutions through with myself. So hair loss and sleeplessness is normal, right?
Ugh.
Stress and I are not friends. While some writers and artists may thrive on stressful situations, I thrive on a bit of tension. I need the tug of the deadline to make a nice little blend with the excitement of writing something beautiful. When the deadline has chained a two-ton ball to my ankle and been thrown into the ocean, there's a little something in the back of my head saying "just give up"...the sing-songy "just keep swimming" is coming from external sources. Inside, I'm just thinking, "Really? Keep swimming? It's over. Can't you see that it's over?"
There are big changes coming soon because I don't want to die young just so a few people could get some websites. I have other dreams that involve me staying alive and completing them. Also, I like having hair. I don't think I would look too good without it.
Stress is one of those things for me...it's not that I handle it poorly, it's just that I let it build up and get worse for a long time, thinking I can take it, and then all of a sudden one day--usually because of some kind of catalyst--I just can't take it any more. As always, the greatest stressor for me is when there is way more to do than there is time. I begin squandering the little time I do have left because at this point it's "Do I finish this project or do I go to the bathroom?" "Do I call this client or do I eat today?" Logic tells me that it's important to choose your priorities, but who's asking the girl who will skip going to the bathroom about "logic"?
I'm being slightly dramatic. I've only skipped a few meals because of work. And usually the one suffering in the bathroom department ends up being Sadie. In reality, many of the physical effects have been probably more related to my habit of "rehearsing" how to explain my problems and talking solutions through with myself. So hair loss and sleeplessness is normal, right?
Ugh.
Stress and I are not friends. While some writers and artists may thrive on stressful situations, I thrive on a bit of tension. I need the tug of the deadline to make a nice little blend with the excitement of writing something beautiful. When the deadline has chained a two-ton ball to my ankle and been thrown into the ocean, there's a little something in the back of my head saying "just give up"...the sing-songy "just keep swimming" is coming from external sources. Inside, I'm just thinking, "Really? Keep swimming? It's over. Can't you see that it's over?"
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