Social Anxiety Strikes Again

It's hard for people who know me to understand how much of my life is governed by my social anxiety. I seem very outgoing and not at ALL shy... but mostly that's just because I stay inside my comfort zone and surround myself with my "girl posse." But take me out of my comfort zone and make me go by myself and I'm more than awkward turtle, I'm scared awkward turtle.

I have been invited to a birthday party. A grown-up one in a bar I've never been to with trendy, hip people I don't know. I know the birthday girl... sort of... but I don't know anyone else.
Guess what that does to my social anxiety.
I was fairly non-committal about whether I could go.

I want to go.

I want to dress up and meet new people and be funny and (pretty) and interesting.

But I know myself. It's WAAAAAAAAAAY out of my comfort zone. Wanting to go and actually going are two completely different things. I know that everyone's advice will be, "So go!! Have a good time!"
But it's really not that easy.

When I got the invitation I started to sweat, knowing that I would then have to make a decision, knowing that making that decision is completely impossible. I could decide right now that I am going to go. I could get dressed and put on makeup and carry extra lipstick in my small purse and even get there and park. And still not be able to go in.

I bought her a present... one of those FAB-O candles from Bohemia. If I don't go I can save it for the next gift-giving occasion.

I feel like Ira. From Ira Sleeps Over. Anyone else remember that book? ("'He won't laugh,' said my father. 'He won't laugh,' said my mother. 'He'll laugh,' said my sister.")

I know that come Saturday night I'll be sitting on my metaphorical steps, with my metaphorical overnight bag packed, still trying to decide if I should take my metaphorical teddy bear or not.

In the end, Ira was fine and the sleepover was fun... but Ira was not worried about saying something stupid, and Ira was not blown-glass fragile and prone to open and uncontrollable weeping. And Ira? Was just going next door to sleep at his best friend's house.

I want to go.
I'm going to try to go.

More Whining about the Teenager

Many thanks to Lara for inviting Bean and I over last night. It gave me a chance to knit with one of my good friends without Bean feeling left out or ignored... because Lara's daughter M is one of Bean's good friends and so she got to talk to M and totally ignore me. Which was great.

So we had chicken and salad and cheese and crackers and Twilight. (Hi, Edward? I love you. Call me!)

I even got to play with a baby. Lara babysits for her niece - a happy, chubby 5-month-old who only stops smiling to drool more effectively. She sat with me for awhile and babbled and laughed and drooled on me. Usually spending that kind of time with a baby that happy and cute makes my ovaries start to vibrate. Luckily I have a teenage daughter, so I'm safe.

I love my daughter. I love her more than anything or anyone else in my life... but she has officially been replaced by the pod people.

My mother, who is usually totally on Bean's side no matter what, said, "Fuck her. She's playing you and she is acting like a spoiled little brat." I was like, "Mom?!?"
She said that when my sister and I started acting like "Spoiled little bitches" she and dad decided to just ignore us, knowing that we "would be ok."

Right.

Except my sister had an abortion at 14 and I was drunk in Jr. High a LOT and also? There may have been some half-hearted suicide attempts. But we (apparently) aren't going to talk about that. Or think about it.
I'm not taking those chances with Bean.

But there also has to be some kind of balance between what Bean needs and what I need. There has to be some balance between doing everything I can for her and taking care of myself.

So we had a pretty good night last night... she got a little bossy with the younger kids and I corrected her and got the "MU-ther" death glare, and she and M left the movie-watching festivities to go to the park for awhile... but that was actually a blessing. Mommy needs a break from the tension.

At bedtime I did get a little weepy and she came in and wanted to know what was wrong. I thought she was already in bed, so was really embarrassed. I can't tell her that what's bothering me is that my child is CRAZY and I don't know which way is up. I said that I was just feeling really overwhelmed and inadequate at home and at work and at school. I did not want to admit that to her - I'm supposed to be strong and supportive of her needs right now.

She tried to comfort me and I let her, for a little while, but it felt wrong. And not just because she is the child and I am supposed to have better boundaries than that.

You know what part of the problem is? I don't feel like I have anyone on my side. Her dad has the idiot stepmother, my mom had my dad... but I'm hanging out here by myself with no home team. And I know that my friends are on my side, and my mom is (clearly) on my side... but it would be nice at the end of the day to have someone to hold me and reassure me and help me plot revenge... er... I mean... discipline appropriately.

Things are just feeling a little lonely on my side of the line at home. I'm not saying I want to get remarried, but right now I miss having a husband. Not my husband circa this time last year... but a husband husband.

Oh well.

Oh Bean.

My kid is not ok.
She's trying to be ok.
She lies about being ok.
But really? She's not ok. And I can't fix it. None of my mommy tools have the right fit.

It's not a huge surprise that she is depressed and has anxiety issues.
There's the nature argument: if both of your parents (and also their parents and siblings and grandparents) have black hair, you're probably going to have black hair.

Then there is the nurture argument... Dad? Unavailable emotionally. Mom? Completely overwhelmed most of the time. Stepmother? Unstable and unreliable. Stepfather? Unstable and also dead.
(If your grief knocks you on your ass in the woods and there's nobody around to hear it does it still hurt?)
You betcha.

It's one thing to feel hopeless and powerless over my own depression and anxiety, it's another thing entirely to feel that way about your child.

If she would just say, "Hey mom, I need to spend time with just you today!" It would be great... but she is a teenager and she also doesn't think her needs are very important. So I have to decipher when "I don't care" means that she doesn't care and when "I don't care" means no.

Sigh.

Where the hell are the instructions that came with her?!? Damn it.

Is Saturday the New Monday??

My day did not start out as I planned. (I know, that's what I get for planning).

But my Saturdays are famous for their loveliness and I have apparently grown accustomed to things, you know, working out.

I picked out clothes last night, a normal outfit and gym clothes (which I packed in my adorable, new gym bag which has MONKEYS DOING YOGA on it!!!) because the PLAN was to leave work a little earlier than usual and go to yoga with Sally and Andie. (Monkeys doing yoga. STILL funny).

Following yoga I have a lunch date with Jessica and then I need to take a party nap so that I'm ready for the Tommy Emmanuel concert tonight. I set my alarm for 6:15 so I would even have time for a shower.

I even slept last night, without any medication, which almost never happens on Fridays.

When I woke up I noticed that it was a little bright outside for sometime-before-6:15-because-that's-when-my-alarm-goes-off. So I checked the clock. It was 8:30. Oh yes, ma'am. A full 90 minutes PAST the time I was supposed to be at work, with caffeine and an Egg McMuffin, ready to tell Weekend Edition listeners what the weather was going to be like for the next three days.

By the time I got to work, everyone was in full-on panic mode (though nobody called me until 8:55 as I was racing to get to the station before the next break). I made it just in time to switch everything over for Car Talk.

But that put me WAAAAAAY behind, so I missed yoga. Which makes me sad. I love yoga. And I love Sally and Andie. Though since Andie my friend is also Andie my boss I'm thinking she might not be so in love with ME right now.

So now I'm just waiting for it to be time to go to lunch, and I'm hoping that's the only snag in my day... because the rest of my day involves good food and great friends and napping and Tommy Emmanuel - who is beautiful and amazingly talented and also someone I will want to see live every chance I get.

OK. Lunchtime.

Clutter Rhymes with Butter

I was already having a good day, but lunch with Andie and Sally made me really happy. And not just because I had gelato (peach and lemoncello, oooooooooohhhhhh).

Now, back at work, I'm kind of at a loss. I need to finish my lit review for the BIG RESEARCH EXTRAVAGANZA, but I'm finding it difficult to make myself drag my research out of my pink floral binder. It's so pretty in there, and so organized. And also? While I love research and lit reviews, this one is sucking my will to live. It's SO depressing. (We're researching the link between sexual trauma and substance abuse in order to make a recommendation for change to a local outpatient facility. Addicts? Not my population).

I'm warm and full and happy and would much rather take a nap, or even a walk!!

There are also books to read and laundry to fold... I guess I just want to go home and hang out with Bean. It's not like I could get LESS done on this paper. Maybe if I go home to write I will actually get some housework done!!

So I was watching Oprah last night. I don't know why it surprises me that her show is good. She's not the most powerful woman in the galaxy for nothing! I forget that she really embraces things that can help you make your life better. Last night was about clutter and how to get rid of it. They seriously had my car-twin on there... they opened the wayback of her van and there was shit piled to the ceiling! And there, on top, was a 2-liter bottle of A&W Diet Root Beer. Guess what you'll find if you open the wayback of my Explorer... yup.

While I watched it I got motivated to clean off my dresser. Threw stuff away, moved books out of the room, dusted. Then I watched The Daily Show, noticing how happy it made me to have that space clean and nice.

Don't tell my mother.

I swear to Bob if she was watching I will get a call from Oprah herownself... or (horror of all horrors) the Clutter Crew will surprise me at the crack of early some morning. (Oprah or no Oprah, if they show up before 10am on a day I get to sleep in I'm slamming the door in their smug, clutter-free faces).

Sally had a good point about me and clutter: it's just not that high on my priority list. There are only so many things a gal can accomplish in a day.
But the clutter guy on Oprah said that when you allow your life to be ruled by clutter and mess you're not teaching your children to really take care of their things.

That struck a chord with me because one of the frustration points with Bean and I is that she ruins stuff by being careless (remember the Coke/Laptop problem last semester??).

I also think that the spreading mess in my house and the spreading mass of my thighs is linked together... something about taking proper care of things that are important...
Nope. It's gone now.

Oh well.

Important! (NOT!)

I was so wrapped up in being so grown up that I forgot to post my newest readings...
So I finished Bright Lights, Big Ass by Jen Lancaster(16). Seriously. Funny. And also rings very true. I'm almost done with Such a Pretty Fat and I think she really should be my new best friend. Maybe I should reconsider not wanting to live in Chicago (because it is too big and too expensive and hi! Scary tall buildings). I also finished The Third Angel by Alice Hoffman(17)... she is one of my favorite authors. She combines some of my favorite things: suspension of disbelief and magical realism with female-centered stories of coping and loss. Sigh.

So I am apparently still hung over, despite my careful following of the Day After Diet (water, tacos, bacon and ice cream, repeat as necessary). And I spent most of yesterday in bed. I did go to the store (WalMart. With a hangover. Oy.) and I did clean some stuff... including the cat boxes and Mount Laundry. But mostly? I was just a huge, passive-aggressive slug. And STILL I wake up this morning with a headache and a sad, sad tummy and a tongue that could sand concrete.
Water. Must have water.

And look how good and prepared I am... last night I packed a salad and yogurt for lunch! Of course, this morning Sally emailed me and asked if I wanted to meet her for a St. Paddy's lunch at The Artichike (damn right I do!) so my salad will have to wait for tomorrow.

I drank a big glass of water and put on grown-up lady clothes (and makeup! It's me, in COLOR!!) because I had to talk about The Vet Center to a room full of recent hires. Joy unspeakable. I was smart enough to remember my knitting and so I sat in the back of the room waiting for it to be my turn to speak. The current speaker, Mr. Ima Bigwhig was actually pretty good and he threw VA mugs and pencil sets to people who participated and answered questions. Then he stopped and asked my name and what I did for the VA.

Here's what I did not say, "My mom has worked directly under you for at LEAST the last ten years. I have met you approximately eleventy thousand times, including her graduation where we sat together and talked for about an hour. In the five months I've been at The Vet Center I've talked to you THERE at least 3 times and IN YOUR OFFICE twice. Also? You sent a very nice plant to my husband's funeral last year."

What I said was, "I'm J. From The Vet Center. Just waiting my turn!"

No glimmer of recognition then either.
Shrug.

So when it was my turn I had no Powerpoint, no handouts, no pencils for throwing. But I also had a pretty good idea that at least three of the new hires had to go to the bathroom pretty bad (there were mostly-empty 54 ounce Quik Trip cups in front of three of the participants). So I said, "I'll be fast because after awhile these things make you want to stick a pen in your eye."

There was no laughter. Because I am not worthy of the sucking up. So I gave them the "where we are, what we do, who we serve" thing, took two questions and said, "Wow! So that's me! Five minutes left, who needs an extra potty break?"

Finally a response.

She's Only Seventeeeeeeeen (Seventeen)

I am ignoring my boyfriend. Because I am a grownup. And calling him my boyfriend because I know that makes him twitchy. See? Grownup.

Of course, he's not calling me... so he doesn't actually know that I am ignoring him...
But that's totally beside the point.
Because I am ignoring my boyfriend.

OK. This weekend was special. It's like one of those 3-paycheck months... it doesn't come around very often and when it does you're supposed to go nuts-to-the-wall crazy with the extra $75. This weekend neither of us had children ANYWHERE near us, and neither of us had to work on Monday. Earlier in the week I said, "Hey you should totally come over on Sunday! No kids, no work!" And he said, "Uh huh."

Now I am not an idiot.
I know that "Uh huh" is not a legally binding contract. Especially with my boyfriend. (Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend).
So Saturday I sent him a text message, all casual, like, "Hey am I going to see you tomorrow?"
Nothing.
Sunday I sent another text, "Hey, I'm heading home... should I expect you?"
Nothing.
This is not my first day with my boyfriend, and I know full well that no contact from him means "no," but I don't understand what is so fucking difficult about sending a text message that says, "NO" instead of ignoring me like I'm his baby-mama.

So I got drunk instead.
And drunk-texted him pretty much all night.
Grownup.

This morning I texted an apology... for all the drunk-texting... and NOTHING!

So now I am ignoring him. And by "him" I mean MY BOYFRIEND.

Which, of course, involves checking my phone obsessively throughout the day waiting for him to call or text so that I can ignore him more effectively.

Which is stupid. Because my boyfriend? King of stubborn. Seriously. And we have previously established that he can go without sex waaaaaaaay longer than I can. So fuck it. I already lose.

But I'm still ignoring him. At least for the rest of tonight. Because I'm mature that way.

And again, by "him" I mean MY BOYFRIEND.

(Added later):

So I texted him again... to let him know that I was ignoring him too. It's no fun if he doesn't know I'm doing it! And I am not known for my patience.
Apparently he's not ignoring me... he's had a death in the family and he's been dealing with that, you know, as I drunk texted him and blogged about it.

So instead of being comforting I've been irritating.
Great.

(And Darren? The "Seventeen" reference was about how "grown up" I've been acting... but points for remembering Winger!)
Of course, with this new development I'm actually about seven.