Type A[nxious]?
I have a bunch of blog entries brewing in my head. In fact, I have that and so many other things brewing in my head that lately insomnia has been a nightly visitor. Fabulous.
Being Type A is extremely different than being an anxious, worrisome person. Being Type A is fun- always a project underway, always a newly organized closet that I'm so pleased with I could curl up in it to bask in its glory. Bathrooms smell like Comet. Rugs have the lines in them from vacuuming. Office spaces are adorned with shelving, mail organizers and little towers that separate paper clips, tacks, rubber bands, and... buttons. (What? I had nowhere else to put the extra garment buttons that come with new clothes and I'm saving them so that I eventually have enough to put in a cute little vase. I think that'll be adorable.) Being Type A makes your library color coded. Yes, it is possible to color code your book bindings by color group, then place them lovingly in the colors of the rainbow.
But. Oh this is a big but. Bigger than my... whatever. But anxiety, ANXIETY, is different. There's no flair. There's no positivity to be gleaned by worry. It is quite literally useless. Unless you're looking for a reason to be wide awake, tossing, turning, and scratching every stupid itch that would never have bothered you in the first place if you were asleep! AHHHHHHHH!
Via woke up at 2:30 am for a bottle. I expected she would given the last time I fed her and when she went down. I fell asleep at about 11:30. Three hours. I feed the babe and snuggled her back into her crib by 3ish. I go to my bed, beamingly wide awake- like I took a hit of adrenaline- and surfed the Dark Side for a few hours. Every financial burden, Via nap-time concerns for when she's in day care, the fact that I will have to leave her every day to go back to work, my goodness- even bees, just kept me all too awake and anxious. Sadly, my fantastic Type A personality was no match. There was no relief, no reasonable way to compartmentalize my thoughts. By 5:30 I was so about to jump out of my skin that I flew out of bed with a robust curse and a flip of the covers and went into the living room so as not to disturb my husband. He followed me into the living room interested to see what his dynamic wife was up to at that god-forsaken hour. Not surprised by my mental antics, he hugged me, told me I was nuts and that I need to have faith that things will work themselves out, and we went back to bed. He fell asleep. I stayed awake.
I eventually dozed off- for an hour before I had to feed Via again- awesome. She went back down and I passed right out. But here we are, in the late morning, awake from our night and with every excuse in the world to be moody and full of piss and vinegar, I have Via right here next to me kicking, talking to me and smiling from ear to ear. I can't be mad. I just smile right back at her and speak her language because with all that stupid crap bogging my mind down- nothing is as cool as the Nugget. And nothing gives me more perspective about what's actually REAL in this world as does my baby girl- when she is my first real gift and the first tangible sign of what people mean by hope and faith.
Bees? Fuck bees. I will punch every bee in the face.
Being Type A is extremely different than being an anxious, worrisome person. Being Type A is fun- always a project underway, always a newly organized closet that I'm so pleased with I could curl up in it to bask in its glory. Bathrooms smell like Comet. Rugs have the lines in them from vacuuming. Office spaces are adorned with shelving, mail organizers and little towers that separate paper clips, tacks, rubber bands, and... buttons. (What? I had nowhere else to put the extra garment buttons that come with new clothes and I'm saving them so that I eventually have enough to put in a cute little vase. I think that'll be adorable.) Being Type A makes your library color coded. Yes, it is possible to color code your book bindings by color group, then place them lovingly in the colors of the rainbow.
But. Oh this is a big but. Bigger than my... whatever. But anxiety, ANXIETY, is different. There's no flair. There's no positivity to be gleaned by worry. It is quite literally useless. Unless you're looking for a reason to be wide awake, tossing, turning, and scratching every stupid itch that would never have bothered you in the first place if you were asleep! AHHHHHHHH!
Via woke up at 2:30 am for a bottle. I expected she would given the last time I fed her and when she went down. I fell asleep at about 11:30. Three hours. I feed the babe and snuggled her back into her crib by 3ish. I go to my bed, beamingly wide awake- like I took a hit of adrenaline- and surfed the Dark Side for a few hours. Every financial burden, Via nap-time concerns for when she's in day care, the fact that I will have to leave her every day to go back to work, my goodness- even bees, just kept me all too awake and anxious. Sadly, my fantastic Type A personality was no match. There was no relief, no reasonable way to compartmentalize my thoughts. By 5:30 I was so about to jump out of my skin that I flew out of bed with a robust curse and a flip of the covers and went into the living room so as not to disturb my husband. He followed me into the living room interested to see what his dynamic wife was up to at that god-forsaken hour. Not surprised by my mental antics, he hugged me, told me I was nuts and that I need to have faith that things will work themselves out, and we went back to bed. He fell asleep. I stayed awake.
I eventually dozed off- for an hour before I had to feed Via again- awesome. She went back down and I passed right out. But here we are, in the late morning, awake from our night and with every excuse in the world to be moody and full of piss and vinegar, I have Via right here next to me kicking, talking to me and smiling from ear to ear. I can't be mad. I just smile right back at her and speak her language because with all that stupid crap bogging my mind down- nothing is as cool as the Nugget. And nothing gives me more perspective about what's actually REAL in this world as does my baby girl- when she is my first real gift and the first tangible sign of what people mean by hope and faith.
Bees? Fuck bees. I will punch every bee in the face.
Bug spray love...
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