I have been dealing with a lot of strange body anxieties lately, in and out of the doctor, freak problems that spring up and then subside. Nothing serious. But it makes me feel dissociated from my body sometimes, like I'm watching myself take antibiotics and put follow-up appointment cards in my wallet on a movie screen. I am going back on hormonal birth control, and I'm really scared it will take away my creativity and make my depression worse. Or make me put on weight, which I worry about the most, and then feel foolish for making that my chief concern. Isn't it a weird thing, being a woman, and carrying all those random things in your pocket to palm over when you're in the house alone and don't want to wash the dishes or make the bed.
I woke up this morning very sore, from running around all weekend like a crazy woman. Yesterday's migraine dulled down to a low headache. The sun hurt my eyes and I had shoved all the covers and blankets off the bed in my sleep. I wanted to take a sick day, but I have a presentation this afternoon I can't miss. So I came into work, and now I am worrying about all manner of things just like I would be at home, except in business casual. I keep realizing I have my jaw locked, like some armor.
I have a tendency to think of my constant anxiety as a pathetic hobby that I'll later outgrow and regret how much time I wasted on it. So the anxiety compounds with self-disgust. My therapist says I should instead befriend it, as it will probably always be there, but be reassured that I don't have to heed its advice all the time. I consider this when I am at the doctor's office last week, sitting there on the table, in nothing but a paper robe. After that appointment's vulnerability, I went back to work, trained a group on a new computer program that they didn't care about.
My therapist moved to a new office. It is much nicer than her old office. When I move to St. Louis I will have to find a new therapist and I am nervous about this. I asked her if we could keep up my appointments but have them over the phone. She said my move would be a great opportunity to find a new doctor, and get a fresh perspective, learn new lessons. I don't buy it.
(For what it's worth, I do understand the privilege in all this: being able to take a sick day, to have a therapist in the first place. I don't take it for granted; I am just trying to sort out what's in my head today.)
Yesterday was Mothers Day. I wanted to get together with my mom for dinner but it didn't work out. My mother planted marigolds, which is something we used to do together at the yellow house when I was little. I remember seeing her long nails in the dirt and thinking that one day I would try to be that glamorous, that one day I would wake up with all those womanisms pre-loaded, next to my hot rollers and diet pills. So far, no dice.
This weekend me and my friend Dave Heinzel shot our new short film. I wrote it, he produced it, and we co-directed it with a killer cast and an outstanding crew. Over the span of two days we worked on that film for 26 intense and rewarding hours. All these plates were spinning in the air and everyone was keeping their own gears churning and it was a glorious alchemy and deathly challenging but fun as hell. It is a weird thing, to have your head in the plot of a screenplay for so long. When I took my dog outside this morning I just kept blinking at the trees. It is a mental whiplash, to return to my own life. It sounds silly. Sometimes when you step outside your mundane narrative, finding the thread back to Monday morning isn't as straightforward as you would think.