Unorganized Honesty

It's been so long since I've consistently blogged, that I'm not even sure this is being read. Somehow, that makes my writing even more honest. And if someone does happen to read it, well, they can always close the tab and I will continue typing in anonymity once again. It's strange the coping methods one develops when you lose grasp of the primary object keeping you sane. Sometimes ironically enough, that object which you need the most is the one you most take for granted. For everyone it's different. Me? I lost my remote control.

To understand what goes on in my head, I guess I would have to say that I deal with a little bit of a fear of abandonment. If I was still under the age of ten they would probably call it separation anxiety. I don't like to be alone. The irony of this is that it is my nature to keep people at a distance at all times; if they aren't close to me, they can't very well desert me. For a few people I've let this wall down. And that is why I am lonely tonight.

Don't think that I'm writing this because I think that someone in cyber-world actually gives a rip about my unstable, phobia-prone emotions. I'm writing this because if they can relate at all, they should know they aren't the only one. Anyways, back to coping methods. Writing has always kind of hung out on the back burner of my interests, coming forward usually when a literary assignment is required, though that hasn't happened much since high school, or when something happens that sends me into a peeved off rant. Lately, I write everything down. I write letters daily, keep a journal, keep another journal about my culinary endeavors separately, and also give love to two blogs alternately.

I spend a lot of time at the gym. Running has always soothed me through most every situation for the last few years. I know it's been said before, but sweating is somehow therapeutic. Usually I run alone, but lately I've been enjoying the comradeship of fellow body odor challenged, endorphin junkies at my gym. Hours can pass and feel like minutes..there is something about pushing yourself to the max and not breaking that gives you confidence to face the rest of your day.

The kitchen has been calling my name hourly. Not in the eating way, in fact, I'm rather the opposite when it comes to stress eating, because I don't. I create lists and organize recipes and arrange shopping lists so that even the black hole of culinary arts, into which I pour my endless creative energy, is tightly controlled and regulated. My life becomes a series of lists, and to-do's put into perfect chronological order, and color coded priorities neatly posted where they will catch my eye.

It is epically important for me to keep a strong front. Happy/smiley photos duly posted, comical comments and messages to caring friends are timely measured out. I'm doing great, I'm fine. My earrings are organized by color. I'm fantastic, hanging in there. My next week is scheduled into 20 minute increments to ensure maximum productivity. I'm fan-freaking-dandy. I just spent the last two hours reading labels and recipes to make sure I am not accidentally ingesting whichever food product I'm currently eschewing from my life. I'm smiling, I'm laughing. I'm fooling you.

My entire life is a series of steps to set up buffers around me, behind which I will hide to keep away from all preventable failures. My biggest fear would be losing control of the screen across which I play the clips of my life that I wish to be seen. But guess what I've gone and done? I dropped the remote into someone elses' hands. You notice you can never quite control your movie without the remote, because the player doesn't have all the buttons. Scenes you bored with meander by, scenes that hurt to watch crawl by, because without a ready skip or mute button the entire movie is going to play.

Maybe that's why tonight I'm a little more honest. It might be better if this post just meanders on unnoticed, and gets buried under epic tales of hamsters and pumpkin cheesecake and moose on my morning runs. Or maybe tonight I'm writing this to keep me honest. Honesty is the only coping method I haven't organized.