Blame it on the Full Moon

I couldn't sleep last night. I'm not sure why, but it would probably have something to do with the fact that I ache all over from all of the cleaning, and/or with my dread of someone coming over to appraise our home, and/or with just plain not looking forward to going to the office on a Monday morning.

I came to several conclusions throughout the weekend madnes:

(1) I need to pull back from a lot of stuff. No choir, for one. No knitting on Thursday nights for another. If I'm going to write, I need to cut down on some of the outside activities. If I'm going to get some sewing done, I need to cut down on the time I'm away from home. Sitting at home and knitting or sewing is therapeutic for me. It's creative "down time" that lets me relax yet still engage in something fulfilling (as opposed to merely laying down to take a nap).

(2) My various obsessions are getting in the way of a lot of things, not the least of which is my ability to maintain viable relationships with people. When I'm not on my medication (and I had missed it for several days running there), I think I must be hell to be around because I get obsessive and manic and basically out of control as I doubt myself yet plunge ahead with what I believe to be the right action, and thus add to the stress I'm already feeling.

(3) I really hate that I have these personality quirks that are outside of my control. Let's face it: I'll always have anxiety and obsessive and depressive behaviors to some degree. The medication helps to keep it under control so that I can live a fairly normal and productive life, even in the midst of crises. But, oh, I hate that I'm this way. I hate having to take pills to be "normal." I hate that I couldn't be one of the few people at the conference for Adult Children of Normal Parents. I wish it were different, but wishing doesn't make it so, and I hate that, too.

(4) In my pridefulness, I forget that I am not the only one who can give nice things to people. Other people are allowed to give nice things to people. They are even allowed to give nice things to me. I sometimes forget that it is as much an honor to receive a gift as to give one. I sometimes forget that it is as much a kindness to allow someone to give something to you as it is to be able to give something from yourself.