Monday, March 30, 2009
a brief and frightening glimpse into my psyche
Today, I ate chocolate cake for breakfast, lunch, and I will most likely also consume it for dinner.
I don't think most doctors would recommend it, but for my particular ailment (toomuchtodo-itis), it is a tried and true remedy. Other helpful remedies include steps such as rolling around on the floor with a 12-month-old baby and making this noise: wow-wow-wow-WOW, stacking multi-colored cups for selfsame baby to repeatedly knock over, kissing as many baby belly jelly rolls as possible, eating yet more chocolate cake, and reading Anne Rice's The Witching Hour (I'll get to this in a bit).
I find that I am suffering from toomuchtodo-itis because I have, um, ALOT to do. It's all part of this ball of STRESS that we've been sorting through for the past few months, and it feels like it's coming to a head, with deadlines and other stuff looming out there in the ever-approaching-future. My portion of the STRESS has me making a million phonecalls and sending emails. I'm normally pretty good at that kind of stuff, but when I'm faced with a truly heinous deadline, I tend to get paralyzed into inaction. Hence today and the chocolate cake.
I think I'm comprised of equal parts 2-year-old child, petulant teenager, and homing pigeon. How else to explain the excess of chocolate and the repeated readings of an overwrought novel about witches living in New Orleans? See, I am a creature of habit, and the more you push this particular creature of habit into stressful situations, the more she returns to those things that are comforting and above-all familiar. Hence the novel. I've read it about six times, and I return to it every few years when I forget how terribly unsatisfying I always find the later novels to be. For those few of you who carefully monitor my reading material, you might be surprised about the Anne Rice. But here's the thing: there's a reason we occasionally eat Captain Crunch cereal and can digest an entire carton of cookie dough ice cream if we're really truly in the mood. And so it is with The Witching Hour. When I pick the thing up, it is so comforting, so familiar, and so darn MORE-ISH, I just have to read the entire thing. I've read the other books that come after it, and I hate them. H-A-T-E. But I think The Witching Hour is one of Rice's best books.
And it's most especially good when I'm trying to forget about the daily concerns of one Whimsy C. Homely Houserperson. The Witching Hour: the perfect chaser for chocolate cake and a glass of milk.
Are you ever stressed into inaction? How long does it take you to recover? What are your tried and true remedies for stress?