Tuesday, March 3, 2015

My Anxiety Files – The Splinter in the Floor of My Downtime


             Apparently I am just not satisfied unless I address something that occurs in my brain that makes me appear to be an absolute nut bar. I’ve written about all manner of idiosyncrasies sparking around between my ears, from the impulse to always hurry, to my overthinking everything and squashing fun. I’m cool with that.  This is one that defies explanation; or at least is so mysterious and flat-out dumb that I have a hard time pinning down exactly what it is, or what it does to me.
            It is under the umbrella of my difficulty with free time.  I have always let anxiety or insecurity in even when it is time to relax or goof off.  When all my work is done, and it is now my turn to do what I want.  I can write or read, play a game, play guitar, take a nap; whatever.  I never know what I want, so having that choice wide open is a bit too much for my brain to handle.
            Here comes the strange part.  Whenever I do make a choice, there is a small part of my brain that has the most fucked-up criteria for deciding with what flavor of activity I engage. For a second, and usually only one second, my brain says Is this the thing you want to be associated with if you die right now?
            Yep.  You read that correctly.
            My brain actually has a list of movies, songs, settings and activities that are representative of me as a person.  If I am trying something new, watching a poor-quality Chinese action flick, or dipping into some old music that has sat in my collection for ten years, I get this ridiculous thought. For some insane reason, it sends a signal to me that this is not in that library of what I am, that the characteristics of this pastime would not jibe with who I really am.
            Yeah, I know.
            The only conclusion I can make to explain why this thought is even in my noggin is that it some type of protection against an embarrassing death scenario.  It’s some sort of Michael Hutchence/David Carradine deal, except with shitty movies and Hagar-era Van Halen replacing the belts and closet doors.
Yes. Gross.  Not denying it.
Whatever this is, be it fear or insecurity or just wacko bananas talk, it has affected me.  For years, I was so hesitant to try new things.  You name it, my brain had trouble associating with it.  My intellectual side had no use for this glitch and I had to step over it like splinters in a floorboard.  I like to read new books and listen to new music.  I don’t mind plays and arty-farty films. I also don’t mind taking a look back at old shit I used to love.  There is plenty of room in anyone’s mind for all of that input.  It will sort out what you like.  That’s in its job description.
So, if I have reasoned that it just silly to have a glitch in your brain that sorts out the input before you interact, on the sheer chance someone thinks you embrace it, then why does that thought come back?  Why is that splinter even in the floor at all?
Time. It has to be time.  It’s the only thing left.
My brain might be saying: Hey asshole, life is short, you don’t want to kill two hours with a movie you won’t like.  You don’t want your last minutes on earth to have a shitty soundtrack.  You don’t want to fritter and waste the hours that make up a dull day.
Again, the logic falls flat.  Whether you think life is long or life is short, you would like to fill it with memories and activities, and in your down time, you would like a smorgasbord of ideas and sounds and art and stories.  You can’t do that with the same old shit flashing in front of your eyes.  
              I tried to explain earlier, I do not have this figured out.  The point is, I have a minor, yet persistent stumbling block in my mind that tries to prevent me from acquiring new sights and sounds.  I do not know from whence it came, I do not thoroughly understand its reason for existence, and it is a pain in the ass to destroy.

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