Papers, scattered across
the tabletop, actually, every flat surface in the house, are taking over. They
have been breeding overnight, perhaps the moment I walk out of the room,
unkempt, disorganized, scribbled in my illegible “doctor” handwriting. Generating
it all onto the laptop is my goal for the week. It is insurmountable and yet,
doable, if I sort, create piles of similar subject matter and begin, one mound
at a time, to type, then format, edit, create a file folder, save it in the
correct spot, where I am able to locate it when I need it (that means I also
have to recall the name of the document,) and drop the scraps in the recycle
bin.
It is an addiction. Writing
on the backs of envelopes, saving torn sheets, even a quarter of a piece of
paper, that has a glaring blank spot left, to jot some little tidbit.
Signed-up for a new credit
card to pay for the on-line class I intend to plow through in a short eight
weeks. It is all very frightening but I vowed to do something scary every day.
Not jumping off the top of the snow pile (up to my shoulders now) scary, simply
things that have been out of my comfort zone for a very long time.
I realize, from when I was
small, I started receiving messages such as “That behavior is inappropriate,”
“Nice people don’t say/act that way,” “This is not polite,” “Women/girls don’t
do that,” It certainly did not have to be what people around me said, a look,
body stance or emotional reaction, sensations that turned friends away, were
all stored in the “Don’t” File.
I am taking them out of
their wraps, trying them on for size, deeming what freaks me out the most,
determining how confident I feel any particular day, choosing one, and doing
it. Sometimes things appear out of thin
air, and I know I must absorb that one NOW.
My Environment class ends
in three weeks so there will be a bit of an overlap in my studies. Guess I
could skip my “How I Met Your Mother”/”House of Cards”/”Lie to Me”/”Nurse
Jackie”/”New Girl” or “Mr. Rogers” episode. Drat.
