Here’s what I mean by that.
I have once more been pondering how I have always had trouble with transitions – by which I mean those times when you stop doing one thing to do another.
It doesn’t matter how much I enjoy either activity. I could be going from one orgasms and potato salad party to another and part of me, the Trog part, will still feel like it’s being snatched from the warm and loving arms of its mother and thrown out into a cold winter’s night on that Midnight Tundra.
And this bothers me. It means that to jut go about my sad little life, I have to go through that traumatic sequence a dozen times a day.
I never get used to it.
It is like I feel compelled to repeat this abandonment scenario over and over, perhaps because there is some lesson in it I am just not learning.
That happens, you know. Repetitive patterns of behaviour, obtrusive and disturbing memories, PTSD, even a serial killer’s modus operandi can all be signs of the mind trying to process a memory but being blocked by another part of the mind because the memory is too painful and traumatic to handle.
So they are really a civil war of the mind. The memory system can’t stop trying to process and integrate the memory, and the emotional center can’t stop blocking it.
Anyhow, back to transitions. I think perhaps the problem is that I get really comfortable in whatever I am doing and don’t want to leave that comfortable little nest.
Transition trauma, therefore, is the price I pay for this nesting urge. If I could develop a more robust internal framework instead of being such an invertebrate, I would not need to settle into place quite so firmly and would not then have to crowbar myself out of that place when it is time to do something else.
Like, for instance, it being time to get out of bed, get some food, and start blogging.
By my Lilliputian standards, that’s a huge change. There I am all cozy under the comfortable, with a steady and reliable source of video games and pornography in the form of my tablet close at hand, and now I am supposed to stand up, go to a completely different room, gather food, come back, and then write 500 words?!?
And it’s made all the worse by the fact that I have to instigate and execute this entire scheme on my own initiative and under my own power.
It is a lot easier when I have to do it because of something external, like needing to go to Wound Care or the like.
It’s still no fun, but at least I am not constantly haunted by the knowledge that I could stop doing the thing right this second and there would be no immediate consequences.
,God do I lack self-discipline. I need context and structure from outside myself in order to get anything done.
Like I said, I’m an invertebrate. No backbone of my own. No skeleton.
I’m jusf a vague and diffuse cloud of lifelike goo floating in the water on a microscope slide in the back closet of the biology lab of an abandoned high school in Mississippi.
Basically, I’m an amoeba.
Pleased ta meetcha.
Struggle or adapt
Lately I’ve been thinking that I am too adaptable for my own good.
For instance, as patient readers know, a couple of weeks ago my keyboard had a stroke [1] when it recovered, it had lost the Q, S, and X keys.
Since then, I have been using an awkward combination of the Windows Visible Keyboard{{2}{ (the one I used during my previous keyboard troubles) and copy n’ paste in order to be able to type “normally”.
“Why not just buy a new keyboard?” you ask.
The answer is that I found it easier to just adapt to the situation. Come up with my own inelegant but workable solution.
But there is no practical, sensible reason I can’t just hop on to Amazon Canada and order a new wireless keyboard.
I can afford it. I have the money on my card. It would be so easy to order it. Just a couple of clicks and I could have it tomorrow.
But for some reason, something inside of me resists doing that. After all, I have a (poor) solution already. And on some deeply fucked up level of my male brain, I think I feel that if I buy new keyboard, my current keyboard wins.
It succeeded in making me go out of my way to buy a replacement. When it malfunctioned,. it challenged my dominance and the last thing I am going to do is let an inanimate object get the better of ME.
Ladies, I swear I am not making this up. This is how our brains work,
So until I get over my little snit, I will not buy a new keyboard.
This is what I mean when I say I adapt when I should struggle instead.
And I have done so all my life. I don’t confront problems and solve them. I just adapt to whatever shitty situation the problem causes.
Because for me, that’s easier. In the short term. And the problem is still there and making my life worse and of course they accumulate and eventually you get me squatting in my own filth because it’s easier to ignore it than to clean.
I’ve adapted to the horrible chaos around me. I never clean anything and so it just gets worse and worse and I hate the mess I live in but I can’t do anything about it because ignoring it is easier.
This is where the path of least resistance gets you, folks.
Your whole life goes down the drain.
And here I am,.in the sewers of life, waiting to reach the sea.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.
[[2]] For the fairly rare letters Q and the X. Q moreso than X
[[3]] For the very common letter S, except that I have to use the WVK for capital S