Passed down through generations of my Calvanist forebears, I retain the ability (without the theology) to accept responsibility and feel guilt for any number of things that have nothing to do with me.
Part of what aids me in this diabolical plan: I do have a great many things that I am actually responsible for and legitimately feel guilty about. Mind you, I am most likely off on the degree of guilt deserved by my various actions.
The most irritating guilts-- the ones that I cling to desperately-- are things having to do with how other people feel. If I have done something to make them feel sad or angry or upset or abandoned... yup. Those are the horrible ones that give me an ache in my gut.
Unfortunately, I really have no control over the way other people feel. So trying to fix things is just an exercise in never-ending... guilt.
Also, because I beat myself up about my deficiencies quite sufficiently with great efficiency... I am wary of entering into communications where someone else might join me in criticism of my behavior.
This is all a very confalutin' way of saying that the longer I go without contacting people the more difficult it is for me to do so. Pretty much.
Why couldn't my ancestors have been Buddhist? Then I could have an inborn tendency to just let go of the negative crap that holds me to the neverending cycle of suffering. Because they are such a cheery lot.
I have not yet eaten lunch and it is possible that low blood sugar is having some impact on my prose.
But I just feel like when you haven't written thank you cards and its been months. Or years. Or you keep paying for a gym membership but never go and it's too embarrassing to cancel. Or you borrowed something from a neighbor and they moved away. It all is just so slippery.
I am not making sense even to myself.
Also, I am absurdly nervous about going to see psychiatrist today. And I am missing a possibly stressful but optional meeting at work.Which is also stressful. See, I get to stress about it whether or not I go.
P.S. I have written over 40,000 words of my new trashy novel.
took meds (ran out of bupropion this morning. will refill or whatever the doc says)
stayed up way super a lot much too late. Which I just remembered. Crap. I refused to look at th clock because I didnt want to know how lat it was. I went to bed at midnight (after writing for a solid four hours) and then read until I was unable to see.
gonna go eat now.
Quaker, teacher, parent,