I need constant stimulation. I have running inner dialogue. Some of it’s checking in (“You’re okay”), pep talk (“Don’t let this bother you”) or simply releasing to the universe what I plan to do next (“I have to make the bed”). Perhaps because I live alone and work from home, I’m sometimes starved for human contact, which helps explain my near addiction to e-mail and blog comments. I check StatCounter often to see who’s come for a visit, and check for new posts and comments where you all live once or twice a day. I’m fortunate to make my wage sitting at laptop, writing all day. But my mind works quickly and I require distraction. So I pop over to check Yahoo mail, catch up with Perez Hilton and the fools at TMZ and check the local weather online, although simply turning around and looking out the picture window would have the same effect.
Why all the ants in my pants? When sitting still my foot is a tappin’; I roll all over the bed so much at night I scare the cat and awake to interesting art installation's in the pillows, blankets and sheets. Yesterday I began work at 4:00 a.m. I was just done with sleeping.
The situation was exacerbated when my Dad died. My doctor suggested Wellbutrin to get through the rough bits, but being an already restless girl, it first made me cry for no reason then took me to warp speed; the constant dry mouth and dog breath. After two very short attempts to commit, they went into the garbage, although I remain a fan of Ativan for occasional sleeplessness. Instead of meds, I work out to kick up what my body produces to excite and calm me (same goes for sex), make endless lunch plans, date casually and often, clean and plan nights and weekends out like Julie the Cruise Director.
Dating and sparking relationships is tough when you’re a get what you want, I want now Veruca Salt type. People are busy. There is work, life and social responsibilities. I can't stand the “Gee, I called yesterday, so that means he should call today” or, “He said he would call Wednesday but didn’t and today is Thursday so do I e-mail or is that too forward?” Fuck that. When I want to hear the voice, I call. When I want to catch up on escapades (or share mine) I e-mail. If I ask you out, and you don’t commit, it’s still out there. If you don’t want me, tell me (but hell, that’s crazy talk…not want ME?) Pick the ball up and chuck it back, but I’ll stop running to collect it after a couple of pass attempts.
Crazy energy can wear your companions out. You can guess where and, yes, I always want to go again. Crazy energy is good for work. I’m on deadline each month, in which time I produce, edit and/or design upwards of 200 terribly interesting pieces of sales collateral and marketing copy in 10 days. And I make deadline every month.
Funny but true, I cannot drink pop/soda/cola (insert you geographically preferred term for fizzy carbonated beverage here). The combination of sugar and caffeine makes my heart beat fast, my hands shake. You don't want to be near me when launch comes (same thing happens, oddly enough, when I eat pie). Alcohol (in moderation) tends to calm a person. So, Mister Wizard, what happens after a couple rum and Cokes? I become a Stepford Wife.