Nevergirl’s

Every couple of weeks or so, I reach a point where I do so much fussing and thinking that my head implodes into itself. Well, kind of.

This implosion isn’t really all that dramatic: no fluids oozing out of my ears; no psychotic breaks; no Vegas weddings; no killing sprees (just shopping sprees and the conviction my life would be immeasurably better with jewelry making supplies as part of it) — unless we make killing mosquitoes count; no, not even a dramatic announcement that I’ve decided to change sexual preferences and intend to date only women from now on, thankyouverymuch.

So, if none of the above happen, what exactly does this implosion do? Turns me into a frustrated and frustrating scatterbrain, that’s all. I lose track of details, put off tasks, stress over the people I love, stress the people I love, mope over the past, panic about the future, and generally just drive myself and everyone who share the same living space as I up the wall.

Right now, the one thing I need to do is stop thinking. YES, CHIN, PLEASE STOP THINKING. Start looking at life as a set of small things you can tackle one sparerib at a time. And, while you’re at it, please go see a doctor, too. It’s one thing to constantly feel dizzy figuratively; physically–now that’s another story altogether.

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