Responsibility Is Overrated

“So much to do, so little time to do it”

Of late this has felt like my personal mantra. The funny thing is I really don’t have all that much going on in the grand scheme of stuff lately -- just one job this past week and the usual plans at night with friends or family -- so it baffles me why I let strange worries about things I do not need to concern myself with creep into my twisted, tiny, little brain.

I get on these kicks sometimes where I feel an uncontrollable urge to do everything and all at the same time. Wait, that might be explaining it wrong. Let me try a different approach.

There is the stuff that defines my overall life which I take part in without question, without any concern, because those things contribute greatly toward who I am. Hanging out in various ways with my family, spending times with friends, writing, etc.

Then I decide it is time to do something else, something new, or just stir the pot a little bit because I am bored with the same old lackluster routine. Much like the fact that I can not physically sit idle for long, I also never allow my brain to slip into a sense of still routine. My mind and my physical body have got to keep moving but generally the pace is somewhat reasonable.

I have shared that in the past couple months -- my BFF (yes it is appropriate to use this acronym at age 35) and I have begun a new workout routine, I have started sucking back a raw fruit and veggie smoothie every morning, I am writing for a new article page, Matt and I are getting out more by going to the movies, I am working on quitting smoking, I am attempting to post a new blog here every day this month, not to mention a slew of day to day stuff like working this past week out of the house or helping my dad and stepmother move into a new apartment.

For a while I move through all of this stuff with ease, as if I am a heated ice cream scoop creating the perfect coil of delightful dairy goodness. Smiling children line up to witness perfectly crafted scoops of their favorite flavor placed in never ending bowls full of the yummy frozen treat. Rainbows are shining and so is the sun, everything is flipping fantastic. Then at some point, as if a bad horror movie, the utensil skips a beat in the container and that perfect spiral of crystallized cream misses the bowl completely and goes flying onto the floor. And that is where I lose it.

Today is that day.

I woke up this morning with my self diagnosed bipolar mind in full on manic-panic mode. Making money and phone calls, having sex, work related obligations, even showering were being compartmentalized into the number of minutes they would take to complete so I could best determine how to make sure every single one of them got done and not only with as little effort as possible but maybe making up a few extra minutes so I could eat too because I originally forgot to fit that in, and now I have no idea how I can possibly get it all done.

Responsibility is hanging ever so precariously above me in something like a balloon and the wind is tossing around what looks like a pin. At some point all that stuff up in the air is going to possibly come crashing down on top of me and trap me underneath it forever. At least in my mind that is what is going on.

On days like this I want nothing more than to smoke a pack of cigarettes, blow off everyone, have naked Saturday, turn off my phone, eat at McDonald’s for every meal, get drunk and do something completely irresponsible like grow some pot plants and smoke it on my balcony, blowing the smoke right into a cop’s face while I laugh.

Of course that probably sounds like an extreme contradiction and you’re thinking “you just said you are keeping track of every minute down to the second for all of that stuff you “have” to do, how can you possibly try to tell me that you would chuck it all and be that wild woman?”

So I don’t. I stay responsible. I maintain the compartments until they are full or empty or whatever I have deemed they are supposed to be.

Then what happens is for the rest of the day today, likely tomorrow and part of Monday as well the only thing I can hear inside my head is the white noise of my own silent scream. The one that exists to remind me that I am not doing what I want, but at least I am not going to prison for doing what I want. It might sound dramafied but anyone who has this freakish compulsion will completely understand exactly what I mean. Then again maybe I am the only one, so be it.

Generally I just don’t fight it anymore, I mean it is me and that is all there is to it. Most of the time I try not to be around other people when this occurs because I refuse to drag them into my soupy, goopy, mucky thoughts. Well except Matt, not much I can do about that one.

One thing good that comes out of this is that I typically write like a fiend. I literally notice everything (can we say over stimulation much?) from the vibrancy of the color of flowers to the sounds on the street to the expressions on someone’s face and I make double sure I have a notebook with me to scribble down my broken thoughts when I am away from home because I never know when that next fantastic topic is going to present itself.

The bad thing about this is I can not settle, there is no rest for me physically or mentally so I affectionately refer to this as my insomnia week. I am wired until at least one AM every night (think a triple shot of espresso minus the racing heart side effect) and then I force myself to go to bed only to wake up every hour or so for at least twenty minutes at a time for the entire night.

Sometimes I lie there with my racing thoughts and stare at the ceiling, other times I get up and do stuff like clean the house or write in my journal. Instead of journaling today, I am blogging because I didn’t want the hand cramp for some reason.

Today.

Because I need to let the responsible side take over, today is the day we are going to go and help my dad move so I had best stop rambling on infinitum. To quell the screaming beast I think I will skip potential cultivation charges and have an extra cigarette instead. It won’t solve the problem but at least I won’t be doing anything illegal to satisfy my overdrive desires. I’ll skip doing laundry though.