All Stressed Out and No One to Choke

At the risk of making several readers laugh hysterically: I am a calm person.

I don't yell, I don't scream, and I never lose my temper. In the face of others yelling and screaming, I serenely sit and wait, watching the show, until the performers tire and are ready to be sane. I live with the idea that I cannot change people's behaviors, only my reactions to them. How very zen. Very stoic. If I keep myself in check, I can avoid a lot of issues. I am quite the lady, in fact. It's something I work hard to be, because everyone likes women who are ladies. We're easier to handle, easier to deal with, and easier to control.

Until we break, anyway. Until our bodies scream that it's high time we knocked off the "good girl" shitck and moved into "real person (complete with emotions)" mode.

No, I'm not about to turn into a ranting anything. Sorry. Go watch some other sideshow. However, due to this calm nature of mine, I can now tally three ambulance rides in my life.

One, just a week prior to my tenth birthday, was due to some guy who lived at the top of the hill taking a spare tire out of his trunk and leaning it against his car. Seems he forgot that round objects roll... and moments later I was flattened by the maverick tire. No injuries of merit, though the sling that I was to wear for a few days was pretty cool.

The second, the winter before I got pregnant with Gav, was earned after I hit ice and then a wall. The backboard I was strapped to was not pretty cool. Neither was the whiplash.

Number three was just a few weeks ago, when my body made the decision that I needed to get a handle on a few things and get my stressors in order and staged a revolt in the form of an anxiety attack (rather like a heart attack, I learned, but without the pain). I suppose one could call it a tradition of sorts in that I was exceedingly calm the entire time -- just as I was when the tire hit me and when I hit the wall. (Can you even have a calm panic attack? Is that an oxymoron?)

So there I was, finding it impossible to take a deep breath and wondering at the odd tingling sensation in both of my hands. I suppose I would have panicked if there had been any pain. But there wasn't. I just, as I kept saying, "felt funny."

Obviously, everything checked out okay. I was given orders to relax and slow down -- which made me laugh rather heartily once the doctor left the room. You see, I did slow down recently. I'm between writing gigs, not adjuncting, and only working my day job. Essentially, I work my eight-hour day and go home to my son and make dinner and play with him a bit and go to bed. Any slower and I'd be in a coma.

However, doctor's orders is doctor's orders. Never let it be said that I don't know how to listen. In the quest to relax, I've since contracted three writing gigs, have taken on cleaning out the basement, and signed up for karate.

It's nice to be back to normal...