Paper Mate

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.