I'm Good at Keeping Secrets From Myself

I finally figured it out. It's anxiety. In the past three weeks, I've

burned my right arm twice on the oven
burned two fingers of my left hand, testing the heat of a grill
sprained one of my ankles
cut both of my feet
hit my lower back against a sharp-edged table

I'm a disaster. All of these were accidents, but they form a pattern, obviously. Whenever I'm anxious, I'm so distracted that I go through periods of accidentally hurting myself. For as long as I'm fearful, I'm a danger to myself.

I haven't been aware of thinking about my surgery, but clearly my mind has been focused on the pain ahead. I'm so good at keeping secrets from myself. It's how I got through my childhood. I compartmentalize to keep anxiety at bay. The Inner Fascist asserts herself and, as always, finds an abundance of qualities that need correction.

Why, why, why. I shut down the Inner Fascist and wonder why she's back. I wonder why I'm falling, cutting, stumbling, injuring myself repeatedly. They defend me from what seems like unbearable anxiousness.

I'm a slow learner. Shhhh. Don't tell anyone, especially not me.

Now That She's Gone

Owner:
"Now that Crazy's gone, who's going to buy paper plates for us? Who can I order to clean the cabinet doors?"

Excellent questions.

Crazy Employee Culled From The Pack

Yesterday morning Crazy Employee was culled from the pack. According to Owner's wishes, she wasn't allowed to talk to anyone other than those doing the severing. I was relieved that she didn't get to come to my office and cry at me. However, it took her 2 hours and 45 minutes to gather her personal belongings and leave the building. We all hid until the all-clear sign from the Information Superhighway. It took so long that I'd begun to think someone had reversed the decision.

I'm ambivalent for many reasons. Not the least of which is that she was a highly entertaining storyline. On the other hand, Crazy was nothing if not annoying. I'm sorry that her family's income will take a hit. The good news on that front is that she was commuting about 70 miles every day, so maybe she'll find a job closer to home. Lower fuel costs must surely offset any cut in pay she'll have to take working for some other company.

My other selfish reason for not wanting to see her go is that it will certainly mean more work for me. More unpalatable work. None of us has any idea exactly how she billed clients, maintained the insurance coverage...or anything else, really. Of course, I've never had a job where there was any real transition from the previous employee. Even when the departing worker was there to offer assistance, there's not much motivation to ensure that the person taking your place is fully informed. I'm scrambling a bit to figure out how she used the system I put in place. Please feel free to laugh.

Owner was out of town until today and arrived at the office in a contentious mood. I haven't actually talked to him, but the Superhighway was called in immediately. It wasn't a pleasant talk, from what I've been told. I don't know whether Mr. Moneybags has been summoned. I saw him earlier and he didn't seem enraged enough to have had a conversation with Owner.

Superhighway escaped to my office a little while ago and asked if I'd expected Owner to be so surly. Yes. Yes, I did.

More brouhaha and culling is in the works. The Foot Lady may be next. Another excellent storyline bites the dust. But have no fear. It's still Crazy Land. Undoubtedly, there will still be much to entertain ourselves with.

Mint Green

Mint green. That's not the right name but that's what I call it. I saw a woman on television with a coat that reminded me. It wasn't mint green, but that's what I call it. I can't see the color truly, because before I can categorize it, I'm inhabiting a different space and time in less than a split second.

Where is it? What went on there? It was not a happy place, not a place for any child to be. I don't know who else was there, but there was someone. I'm too frightened to enter into that moment and define the color. I call it mint green.

I don't want to know. It's been so long since a lost terrifying moment arose from nowhere, spinning back in time. There are predictable triggers for predictable pasts. The way the sun shines in a room. Picking up a stick in the yard. These things shove me back into long ago that seems like right now. But mint green. That's something new.

Having entered that space and time for less than a split second, several times now, there will be no stopping it. Whether I ever remember the place or what went on there, mint green will always invite a flashback.

That's how trauma goes.

I was going somewhere with that sentence, but before I could finish, I was numb. Magically, I'm dissociated. Of course, that's how trauma is, too.