OK, now I see why people use Twitter. This could be addictive, couldn't it? Twitter doesn't give me everything I need for the to.done list, but I could probably make a gateway if I wanted to. I don't want to.
I was sitting here trying to figure out why I feel the same sense of dread about making phone calls, upgrading servers, and moving my email from rahul.net to dreamhost. And then it hit me:
I'm afraid of doing anything irrevocable.
It probably even has a lot to do with why I put furniture together with screws and adjustable shelf brackets instead of glue and dovetail joints. I'm terrified of making some horrible mistake and being stuck with something I can't fix. It certainly has a lot to do with my fear of paperwork, and my inability to make hiring decisions the one time I attempted to be a manager. It has everything to do with the financial non-decisions behind our current trainwreck.
It relates to phone calls because I can't take back or even edit my words. I can't even take back the fact that I've made the call and the other person has answered it.
In retrospect it's surprising that I do anything irrevocable at all. I was terrified when I married Colleen all those years ago.
Not sure how the heck knowing this helps me move my email service. But that has to be done, and this week. Deadlines help, even though I often miss them.
(10:10 Just realized that the fear of doing something irrevocable has, on several occasions, been all that's kept me alive. Maybe I don't want to cure it altogether.)
OK, I was wrong last post. Being afraid of doing anything irrevocable doesn't explain the phone phobia. That's explained by my worst fear:
I'm terrified of being embarrassed.
That explains the phone phobia, the shyness, probably a large part of why it took me so long to get help for my depression, why it's so damned hard for me to ask for help in general, and on and on and on.
That explains why I can't stand most comedy. Watching somebody be embarrassed is excruciating. Yes, I have walked out of movies.
You may well ask why, then, I feel comfortable with writing about all this, and all of the assorted stupid things I've been doing lately. The answer, I think, involves two effects. The first is that when I'm writing I'm all by myself; there's a lot of distance between me in here and you out there. It's just me and the computer, in here. It's you and your computer out there.
The other, and I think the more important one, is that it's my move. If I put some information on the table, nobody else can spring it on me when it would be embarrassing. And you can talk about it, if you want, knowing that I've already brought up the subject and I'm expecting -- perhaps even hoping for -- your input. Neither of us has to be embarrassed in that conversation.
I have no idea how to deal with this one. Hopefully my therapist will.
I think I must be able to read facial expressions better than I usually give myself credit for. I can recognize at least some emotions when I see them, at least enough to know that I have to ask for clarification.
I'm a lot worse at reading tone of voice. That probably has a lot to do with why I'm much more uncomfortable on the phone than I am with either text (which I can edit, and where I can take enough time to be very explicit about saying exactly what I mean) or face-to-face, (where I can get visual feedback and correct my mistakes immediately).
... doesn't mean that it's going to be easy to take apart. A little over three decades ago I bolted a few pieces of maple lumber together with 1/4" machine screws to make a frame for a pair of triple-folded foam cushions. When the foam disintegrated after some 20 years I added a back and bottom of maple plywood, and some 6" legs to raise it to a more comfortable height for a now-very-arthritic Colleen.
It's taken me some three-and-a-half hours to take it apart into manageable pieces. If seven-foot-long chunks of hardwood can be considered manageable. The cushions are now in the sewing room/guest room, waiting for enough floor space to lay them down and turn them into a bed. Since there are now only two cushions and not three, the resulting bed will be a few inches narrower than queen-sized, but longer.
There is cyclobenzaprine in my near future. Um... no there isn't.
It's a tricyclic antidepressant and shouldn't be
mixed with an SSRI. Grumble. And a hot bath. Definitely a hot
bath.
Perhaps inspired by Food Network on our newly-installed cable, tonight found Colleen in the kitchen cooking dinner. Some of it, anyway: I made the salad, chopped the onions, and started the rice; she made the pork chops and the wonderful apple/onion/cranberry sauce topping.
It's the first cooking she's been able to do all year. I'm delighted.
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