…is not a phrase that has ever been used to describe me…though I do actually have a surprising penchant for such things as white water rafting and riding roller coasters (or I did, until a roller coaster tried to kill me last summer, but that’s another story.) I also kind of love that stomach flop that happens when my airplane hits turbulence. I mean, strapped in a metal tube thousands of feet above the earth, what the hell am I supposed to do if something goes wrong? I’m just along for the ride; might as well enjoy it.
What I emphatically do NOT enjoy is getting an adrenaline rush from stress, and that has happened to me twice in the last two days. Both instances left me shaking and nauseous and unable to calm down for a long time. What gives, 2011? Why are you fucking with me when I made such reasonable and forward-thinking resolutions? Must I also sacrifice a virgin goat under a full moon and then copulate with a king in front of everyone as incense wafts around us? (Am I the only one whose personal belief system is an amalgam of old mythologies, porn, and Catholicism? I’m modern that way.)
The first heart-stopper came when I made my daily Statcounter check yesterday and saw the name of Lieu’s company there. He works for a big place, and I am fairly sure it was a random Google click that had nothing to do with him, but my heart stopped beating for a good 30 seconds, and then tried to jackhammer its way out of my chest. It took me hours to recover. To give you an idea of the scope of my horror, I lost my appetite. That’s how you know shit is real. That and losing feeling in my hands for 30 minutes. So, I made a point to passingly refer to myself–again–as an anonymous blogger when I next spoke with him. No follow-up questions ensued. That totally counts as due diligence, right?
The second near-death experience was actually a near-death experience Jeepy and I had on the way home from work. Turning left on a busy street, the car in front of me stopped short to allow some pedestrians to go, and the car coming straight toward me just kept on coming, at high speed, while I sat there trapped in the intersection like a butterfly pinned to a board. To avert disaster, I did some lightning-fast calculations, and then bravely clapped my hands over my eyes and moaned. I mean, I had very few other options. The other car stopped millimeters, if that, from Jeepy’s bumper, and I had a perfect view of the driver’s face as he lifted both arms in exasperation and mouthed Go! Go!
Go where, jackwagon? I wouldn’t be sitting in the middle of the intersection—as I have been since you were well down the block–if traffic were not hopelessly snarled. But because I believe that road rage is unhealthy, unproductive, and most of all unladylike, I merely rolled down my window and screamed Go fuck yourself you stupid son of a bitch instead of jumping out of the car and kicking him to death. The shaking hands and racing heart did not subside until after I got home.
I think I’m just stressy in general, and that I am manufacturing extra adrenaline that’s quick to overwhelm me. I’m stressed about work, stressed about the boy, and stressed about school. My nervous system is on high alert, and I am extra brittle and snappy. I believe what I am feeling might well be called anxiety, and that some people take their prescribed medication in order to combat said emotion. (Is anxiety an emotion?) I, however, lost my meds in a vomitous haze in New Orleans and have yet to replace them, because the logistics of doing so stress me out and as we have seen, I am not handling my stress well. Somebody with a little less on their plate right now should get on it though, before a leaf skittering across my path actually causes my heart to stop for real.