And anxiety ensued, as it was likely to:
I turned 27 this past Sunday, and my dad got me a membership to the YMCA. Mostly because my doctor said swimming would be good for me. The first thing that entered my mind after five minutes in the warm pool was that for as much cardio and strength training I’ve been doing six days a week for a month now, swimming still kicked my ass. I know how to do it, but I need major stamina (gotta level up for points, right?). So I spent my half hour exercise kicking my legs as long as I could over and over again while hanging on to the side of the pool. It wasn’t very busy at all. Just camp kids coming in halfway through my time there, and still I had about half the pool to myself. That took the edge off when I figured the lifeguards would be keeping their eyes on the little ones and ignoring the 20 something re-learning how to swim properly.
The eyes on me inside of the pool area were beating on me like those red laser pointers at the end of those big guns…but the real anxiety was in the locker room. For starters, I was so in my head trying to get ready, not forget the locker key, and overanalyzing my surroundings that I forgot to bring a towel out with me to the pool. DUMB! I had to positively talk to myself when I got out of the pool and say, “Well I’m sure this isn’t the first time this has happened to anyone, and it’s just a small little mistake anyway, I can’t look THAT stupid. Plus…most of the attention is on the kids and lap swimmers right? I can get away with this…”
Secondly, oh my god I’m not used to ladies stripping down no F’s given in front of me. When I snuck in the locker room to take a shower I chose one of the two stalls that had a curtain. Showering felt great…but afterwards I had no idea where to dry myself, and when I WAS dry I had to sneak into the corner of the locker room to dress myself. There was one lady who was in the locker room not suited up for swimming yet, so I wasn’t bombarded the way I was when I first got there. THANK GOD! I think the worst part was that I wanted to make sure my butt and lady area were completely dry before I put my underwear on, so here I am silently thinking, “Oh god oh god do it fast and hope no one comes in here…” The sheer horror thinking that if people were in the locker room they would have seen my lady area is terrifying. The thing about it is there’s nowhere that’s dry enough to keep your gym bag or clean clothes other than the main area, and that’s swimming (har har) with ladies, the ones closest to my age being the most anxiety provoking.
I made it though! Hopefully tomorrow I’ll handle the anxiety as well, and maybe even remember my towel.
My mom said I was as excited as a two-year old while I was opening my birthday gifts. My dad said, “she IS a two-year old over this shit!” And it’s true, I have a lust for finding excuses to be spirited like a little kid. I love Christmas morning and our family traditions, I love going on family vacations, I love playing with the kids I nanny for. I was going through my new journal I got for my birthday and making “to-do” lists of family vacation ideas which included Disney World and our itineraries for such trips. My family has been promising we’d all go when we were able to go financially again, especially since we haven’t been on a family vacation in a few years now, which was at first hard on morale, because like clockwork every summer we went on some vacation even if it was just overnight at the WI state fair. Guess who was young at heart there too? YOU GUESSED IT! Me. Bipolar Barbie-Q. I get emotional over this crap too. It all makes sense NOW, but years and years before the diagnosis it was outrageous how depressed I’d get over the last day(s) of our vacations, crying and being a mope. I still get the same way without much of the crying and less of the depression thanks to Mr. Mood Stabilizer and his friend drugs. Still, the other side of things now that we’re all older is the list of questions to obsess over that ring around the rosy in my mind. “Is this going to be our last time going to Disney?” “Are my parents going to want to go on any of the thrill rides with me?” “Will dad hurt his back if he goes on one with me so I don’t go alone and hurt his back and ruin the whole vacation?” “Will my sister and her mysterious bowel problem ruin the whole trip?” As much as the “Let’s make a list of what to do on vacation!” is fun, it’s also frustrating if I dote too much on the variables of at-home living problems.
Following in little kid fashion I swam today, I read an entire book, and I made my lists. I sat there in bed with my covers balled up feeling bored. It was smirking at that silly feeling that sparked this post.
Someone very special to me is a complete dick. It’s like he lives to bring me down, and I know some of it is that he’s miserable about his life so he takes it out on me sometimes, he’s admitted it. But we had a little falling out about it last night, and I haven’t heard from him since. I love the guy, so of course I’m affected by it. He’s not 100% dick…but he’s on a roll these past couple months, and if it weren’t for Mr. Mood Stabilizer and his friend drugs (they’re a very popular lot in this post, you think?) I’d be sleeping all day and crying when I was awake. Of course I feel like it’s all my fault, and I should apologize, but…there’s a certain line that I don’t think should logically be crossed over my guilt. How much of it is rational?
Ahh what a life. When I get to a proper computer with a mouse that doesn’t have this pesky finger pad ‘mouse’ that spazzes every other time I touch it I’d be so happy to flutter around WordPress with interactive love. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll get a chance. My favorite WordPressers need to know I’m still rooting for them! The guilt knowing I’m slacking is unforgiving. #FirstWorldProblems