So, with the holiday weekend, the lights dimmed a bit over here on the Bluegrass. Between the demands at work, home, and at my flea market booth, I thought it wise to take a small respite and only focus on a couple of things at a time instead of my usual million. I got out quite a bit and spent time with friends and lover, but at the end of the weekend, I found myself coming up bare. This isn’t anything new either. Holidays have never had a positive connotation in my life since stress and arguments always seemed to occur, which automatically makes them emotional triggers for me.
By bare, I mean exposed. Don’t worry, I didn’t guzzle down four pitchers of margaritas while at a party and start an awkward Congo line of flesh around the neighborhood block. No, I mean I found all my guards down, and realized my psychological closets were thrown wide open to forward thinking about my future. I entertained ideas I normally won’t let my mind wander around.
Like most people in the world, I like to imagine things for my life, but there are some topics I don’t touch. Too many old wounds with scars still scabbing over, you know? But I completely let myself venture into the warning zones and now here I am, nearly crippled with anxiety about everything I’m doing. Essentially, I shot my growing confidence all to Hell, and now I’m floundering around wondering why on Earth I ever thought I could accomplish even half of what I’ve set out to do. Read the rest here at my blog The Bluegrass Skeptic