Stressy

I have a specific reaction to stress: itchy knuckles.

Contrary to the suppositions of people I used to know, this does not mean I need to hit something and that I have a lot of repressed anger (‘The teachers on Minbar said I had a lot of repressed anger.’/’And now?’/’It’s not repressed any more.’).

What it means is that I’m stressed. And this means I break-out in little milimeter wide lumps which, like mosquito bites, are itchy and need to be scratched, which results in cracked and incredibly dry skin.

The solution is that I need to work-out how I’ve gotten so stressed.

Exhibit A

Oh, the work I did last week. What a complete disaster.

Contrary to already established intent, I did not have Monday as a writing day, work 3 days, and have Friday as a writing day. No, what happened was that I got stressed about a job I had to do on Tuesday and did some of it on Monday. This irritated me no end, but I still did it. Then on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and — dammit — Friday, I worked. I worked Friday because I had a client meeting presenting a website and copywriting I’d done.

But, I thought, I’ll take most of the next week off.

I was supposed to write on Monday this week, but didn’t. Why? Because I thought that having four days straight of writing would be better than one day, then a work day, then 3 days.

I was wrong.

This week is proof that I have slipped back into work stress. And it’s really showing.

Exhibit B

My lovely housemate ‘C’ has moved out. This meant much of last week, and all weekend was really taken up with moving which, as wiser people than I have pointed-out, is one of the most stressful activities a person can do to themselves. This, presumably, is why god invented moving companies who do it all for you.

My lovely new housemate, ‘E’ is in now, and we’ve added a few pieces of furniture to her room. She’s really great, but as I say, the moving experience of others has probably rubbed off onto me, resulting in itchy knuckles.

Exhibit C

For reasons I have yet to ascertain, I am storing and holding my body up with my shoulders again. This is, frankly, a near impossible feat, but still I do it.

Ultimately, I have slipped back into old habits. It could be because I relate to the desk in my room, set-up pretty ergonomically, as a ‘workplace’ rather than a ‘computer place’. This being the case, I write on the computer in awkward positions, on the lovely little table in my room — designed for eating off, not typing on — and the table in the back yard, similarly designed. I also have — until recently (when I realised I was going through $20 a day in cakes and pots of tea) been using the tables in nearby cafes to write the splendorous stories to which many have become enthralled on the daisydonnie site. Again, the height of the tables — designed for the consumption of foody goodness, is not ideal for typing out prose of any nature, unless you’re taller than I. So my shoulders unconsciously (well, they’re not conscious of course) rise so I don’t get RSI of the wrist.

Of course the rising of the shoulders means the stress of the rising is stored in said shoulders and thus I become stressed.

And my back hurts.

Solutions

Well, as exhibit A proves, I should bloody well stick to what I said I was going to do (and really enjoyed) and do Monday and Friday for writing, and tuesday to thursday for work.

End of story. No negotiation. No exceptions. Just Bloody Do This!

Exhibit B will sort itself out. The lovely ‘C’ has gone to her new home, and I really hope she loves it there. The wonderful ‘E’ is here, and we’re getting along really well. This is good. No more stress there.

Exhibit C is rather simple: I just need to build a bloody bridge and get the fuck over it.

See how writing sorts my problems out!

Author: gotheek

Sometime writer, full time human.