A Slice of Time During the Morning (Channeled parts in bold and italics)

I bounce between two schools of thought about the entries I make in my blogs. On the one hand I am a long winded writer. It’s just a more natural flow for me to examine the minutia and find it absolutely fascinating. The tiniest little detail is worthy of being brought into the light to be examined. In really getting into whatever it is I happen to be writing about it is not uncommon that I lose track of how long the piece is getting.

On the other hand people tend to get bored. My husband’s eyes will glaze over and he develops a noticeable twitch when whatever story I am telling him grows too long. He says to me, “The Short Version!” I counter with, “This is the short version!”

Is this what is called being caught between a rock and a hard place? I think not. I believe I can take awhile to tell a story and to that story come the folk who don’t mind spending a bit of time. It is difficult for me to manage the short version. It’s like sweeping the icing off of the cake and presenting somebody with a bald and rather forlorn looking cupcake. Something is missing.

But, people like the short version. My boss is like that too. I wrote up the story of a disgruntled customer the other day. It caught everything the person had to tell me of their complaint. Finished, I was pleased to see I’d kept it all to one page. And, that was when I said, “It’s too long.” So, I erased the bottom 8 inches of the story and rewrote it. Now, interestingly enough, deleting all that large amount of story did not in any way cause one moment of consternation for me. Rather, it was like I got to write some more.

It’s not like vomiting on the page like was the case once upon a time. I’m taking the time now to spit judiciously. Oh, this is sick.

Dear, you are having a ball this morning.

Well, yes, you’re right. I don’t know where I’m going with it though. I’m just writing.

Yes, we can see that. Is there a story you’d like to tell?

I’d like to talk about what it’s like for me to read. How the letters move to sounds. How the letters on the page are like paint and are like music to my ears. Am I going bi-polar?

I think not. Continue.

I worry about that, you know.

Yes, we know you are worried about it. You will know if and when it happens. Your husband will be sure to say something to you.

Okay, in the quiet of this lovely Sunday morning maybe I ought to address whatever psychological shitty things need to be aired.

What a way with words you have.

Right. Well, it was fun a moment ago. Now, it isn’t fun anymore.

We realize that examining psychological issues is not your favorite thing to do. Why did you make the shift from writing about nothing to having a purpose?

Well, you were sort of standing there and I figured I ought to do something useful.

Your father would not consider this useful at all.

No, not much of what I do is.

So, there you have something to center in upon if you are so inclined.

You know, I was thinking about doing Byron Katie’s, “Loving What Is” work earlier today for somebody else. Maybe I should do it for my father too. I know when I did it with the kid downstairs everything between us altered. That was 2 years ago and it has never gone back to when I was so angry with him.

That is a good thing to do, however, your first inclination to move to the standard stand up on the table and beat the crap out of it with a baseball bat would also do more toward moving you into a rather productive time for the remainder of the weekend.

Like that, huh?

Like that, Dear.

Little Steps

So, I’m reading this flyer about how stress can affect somebody who has diabetes. The body will release extra glucose into the blood stream in response to stress-filled situations. Wonderful. Extra glucose for a person who is diabetic is going to make their glucose readings soar. Not good.

I had gotten to the point in the flyer where the authors of the piece were advising the reader to try to determine what was causing the stress in their life. Then, they said to talk to your diabetes-care team. I think, “And, they’re going to help me hire a hit man?” I had to laugh.

Anyway, stress is generally on my mind around this time of year. There is the guilt I feel for not wanting to be a dutiful daughter. There is the agony I go through as I try to decide on the best gifts to give to different people. These things by themselves ought not to bother your regular Joe all that much. But, they have always bothered me and as I read that flyer the concern that I worry a lot worries me. It’s like this never ending cycle.

The way I figure it, I am trying to look at things from a different perspective:

1. God (or my higher self) would never give me anything to do that I cannot handle or that isn’t in my best interest to think or learn about.

2. I can pickup on the fact that there is something that is not quite right and I can do a little bit of psychological healing.

Anyway, that’s enough for now. I gave up smoking. I gave up drinking. I have made inroads into the idea that exercise is a good thing and in joining Curves started doing something positive in that direction. I may never end up looking like Miss America, but I think I am slowly, but surely moving to a place where I might not need to worry as much as I used to.

Psychological Work This Morning

Preface note: The channeled parts of this entry are in green.

How well do you take rejection? What happens when somebody says, “No” to you? I don’t know about you, but even though I’m grown up, I’m hardwired to be a 3 year old and the word, “No” absolutely, without a doubt, makes my stomach go into instant knots. It’s weird. It’s probably something psychological I could work on. But, any form of rejection or correction gets me tied up in knots. Life would be a whole lot easier if that didn’t happen to me.

Okay, so maybe I’ll work on that.

Maybe?

Well, yeah, tomorrow.

You have time now.

I’m writing now. By the way, hello.

Yes, and hello to you too Dear. You are evading the issue again.

See what happens when you channel? You get help from all quarters. Is this Seth?

No. It doesn’t matter who it is.

To my readers: First I get a hit that it’s my mother. Then, I get a hit that it’s Elvis. Then, Henry Kissinger. I think we’ll just leave it that it is one of the guides I’m talking to.

That would be a good idea. Less stress on your brain.

Okay, so you figure I can go fishing after this particular psychological curiosity right now.

Yes, you have 30 minutes before you should go about your morning ablutions and dress yourself for your day at work.

I don’t really want to do this.

I know, Dear. You never do.

Thanks.

You’re welcome.

Okay, I’m doing it.

Yes, I can see that you are.

You’re teasing me.

Yes, and you’re not doing your work. Stop for a moment or two. That’s all it’s going to take. Sit quietly while your husband is still asleep and the cats are quiet. Close your eyes and drift back to a time when you first were aware of the sense of rejection and of correction as you referred to it. You don’t have to do anything about it. Just become aware of it.

Okay. I did my time out for exploration just now. I got a sense of why this is going on right now. We’re in a state of transition at work. I’m in the process of training a new person to do my job even while I’m learning to do another person’s job. That’s stressful for me. I’ve never been a supervisor. Now, I’m going to be one. I don’t know if I can do it. And, because it’s stressful I’m reacting and dragging all these bits and pieces of psychological flotsam to the surface of my awareness. I think.

Everybody knows when the “thing” happened. Back when you were a kid somewhere along the line. And, I don’t think it really matters if you zero in on the very first time. It might have been going on for awhile and your memories of it surface at age 2 or 3 or 4. But, maybe it started earlier. It was no great crime. It was just how you were raised. But, somehow, a damage was done.

What I haven’t quite understood is how a normal, level headed, mature in years person can still be reacting to this shit. I’m sort of pissed about it. But, that’s life and those are lumps. And, seeing as how I’m carrying an extra 100 pounds on me is a dead giveaway that something ain’t quite right. So, there. I’m done. I dabbled my toes in the psychological waters of healing just now and the water is not too hot and not too cold. I’ll be back. I promise. It was a another step towards healing.