So anxiety has been kicking my ass lately. It’s so bad that Sunshine pretty much ordered me to seek professional help. I have an appointment with my primary (for allergies) on Thursday, and the receptionist told me to mention the anxiety to the doctor so that I could get a referral to the mental health care provider. I’m pretty sure that the meds I was taking for the back pain plus the steroid nose spray for allergies contributed to the explosion in anxiety. All that shit is slowly flushing out of my system, so the anxiety is lessening incrementally. I’m still going to get that referral, because Sunshine is right. There are proven methods of dealing with this, and it’s time I tried letting a professional help me.
Today, the anxiety wasn’t too bad until I wandered outside. I got hit by some nasty humidity and now my COPD is showing its ass and that’s causing the anxiety to ratchet back up. Time out for more fun.
In spite of all of the COPD and allergy woes, in spite of the anxiety, I actually feel like cleaning house today. It needs it desperately, and I actually seem to have the spoons for it.
This is where the part about being my mother’s child comes into play. Mom was more than a little bit OCD about keeping a clean house when I was a kid.
side note: I get it, actually. Sometimes, life is just so fucking much, and a clean house is something I can absolutely control. Well, maybe I can’t control Sunshine’s efforts to keep it from being clean, but I can absolutely control how long it stays borked after he borks it. There’s a weird sort of comfort in cleaning my house.
I often rebel against all that OCD cleaning I lived through. I notice dust on the entertainment center, and I want to clean it but I force myself to ignore it. However, that only goes on for so long before I can’t stop myself and I start cleaning. Today is that moment for me.
Yesterday sucked ass. Storms, fatigue, back ache, Sunshine out of town for the day… So I sat here and played around on the internet and texted with my bestest best friend ever. I also bought two pairs of slip-on sneakers, because I have resolved that slip-on sneakers are my new stilettos and I intend to own many many pairs of beautiful slip-on sneakers.
side note: I got a hell of a deal on them. I had the cash to spare, and they will actually get a lot of use. I’ve finally let go of the me I used to be with my sky-high heels and embraced something that works for my life as it is today.
I think I’m digressing, which is apparently a problem today. I have made it my mission to clean my house, and I have tweeted out a call to #thebloggesstribe to hold me accountable. They offered immediate support and some helpful suggestions about doing it in small, easily digestible bites with frequent breaks. Which was brilliant advice that I needed to hear.
I made it through making the bed and putting on not-PJs and then I got distracted by progress at our little house build site. I was down there snapping pics until my phone died. I brought my phone back to the magic bus to charge and promptly forgot to return and use Sunshine’s phone to take more pics because I started cleaning the kitchen because I am my mother’s child and am twitching over how dirty some parts of my house are after a weekend of guests and yesterday’s rain.
Of course, every trip outside is causing the humidity to send my lungs into fits, which starts ratcheting up the anxiety, which causes me to seek distractions, which leads me down rabbit holes on twitter and my favorite shoe shopping site. Hence this post.
Ultimately, I’ll get up and finish cleaning the house. Because it really is gross by my mom’s standards, and I am my mother’s child.
final note: I am actually proud of being my mother’s child. I am oddly comforted by all the quirks I see in myself that I know came from mom and nobody else but mom. Some of those quirks are annoying as fuck, and I don’t care. I am my mother’s child, and I’m fucking grateful beyond words for that.