Skip to main content

Hm, hm.

Uh, oh--another Radiohead mood....

But seriously, things have a kinda slowed-down-feeling. Not that I want to let them slow down--not that I'm going to let them slow down--just that that's how they feel. It's odd.



It's weird because for the most part things are going really well. I got an extra shift yesterday--did pretty well too, I imagine--, went to my only slightly estranged Wednesday meeting--love those guys, and've missed'em--, and been really enjoying biking--I acquired a ski mask, plus the windbreaker and wind-proof biking gloves I already had....I'm impervious to Maryland's dreaded winds!

I think, though, that cruel specter--those looming student loan payments due in a week--has me a little down, disaffected, antipathetic....

As I mentioned, I did the maths and it's not too pretty. I've a few options. I'll need to either get a second job ("Fuck, you mean I gotta find ANOTHER one all over again?!"), go back to school, or talk my loan servicers into some reworking of my payments.

Option three is probably the best short term plan; it's unlikely I'll find a job and get a paycheck in 6 days, nor am I likely to slip in at the last minute for this fall term of school to knock'em loans back into deferment.

But it's scary. What do I do? Do I just...call them?

I've had a lifelong aversion to talking to people on the phone when it comes to business. I can't even comfortably order pizza, nevermind work out a forbearance/restructuring/whatevering. It's not impossible, of course; I've managed plenty of times to overcome this phobic feeling--I've managed to keep myself fed even at the worst of my reclusion. But it isn't easy.

The next tough part for me is figuring out what the fuck I'm supposed to say/ask. Believe me, this is more than enough reason for me to freak out/psych myself out. I need but one nugget of uncertainty--and I run with it. And it's absurd--totally absurd--more often than not, but how much can one realistically hope an insane mind will actually make sense?

My therapist called it a "phobia of fear" the other; no, that's not a diagnosis, and I'm not exactly insane--I know these things, dear readers, worry not. But in most every case it's never been a fear of the thing itself but a fear of the fear, uncertainty, anxiety, disappointment surrounding it. Which I've usually provided in the first place, of course.

Like doing up my finances the other day. It wasn't the mathing that had me a'fearful and avoidant. Fuck, give me a calculator and tell me to crunch numbers, and I'll happily do it for hours. But tell me to punch up my finances, and I'll start to worry. "What if I owe way more than I earn?" "What if I find out what an ass I was to not start saving money sooner?" "What if I ____?" "What if ____ happens (to me)?" and so on until "I'll be fine, it's okay, no need to worry, I'll just do it later". It's convenient as, I've found, "later" never comes if you don't want it to.

Nevermind that in this case, it did turn out worse than I expected; usually it's the other way around because I tend to supplant reality with anxiety. All it takes to dispel it is a reality check.

Even in this case, where the numbers turned out grimmer than expected/feared, having actually done the mathing I can do something about it. I've already talked to my dad (we should do a follow-up...hm); now I just need to talk to my servicers...which brings me back to this problem of anxiety instead of reality; aversion instead of action.

I can be such a willful fool. I need some of that...permission to be wrong, willingness to try, humility, and prolly other stuff I heard at the meeting last night....

My therapist pointed out that it's better to call now than wait. Simply put, he suggested, you'll be dealing with an actual person, who's bound to be more understanding, even sympathetic, than whatever computer automatically logs some late fees against me the day after my payments were due.

You know, the man's got a point.

Comments

Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Gardenzia carnivorus.

I recently got back into horticulture after a bad moment of burnout, and wouldn't ya know it, I'm back at it with carnivorous plants! Despite tweeting about it endlessly, I haven't actually explained how or why this started.

Back in middle school, I helped my science teacher set up a carnivorous plant display. Nothing elaborate, mind you; a terrarium with a bunch of sphagnum moss and some pitcher plants, a sundew or two, maybe a Venus flytrap? Didn't leave much of an impression, except maybe that they died and that sucked. shrug.
A couple years later, I was in a bog near my grandmother's lake house, when things changed forever. I was in the back end of the canoe, and as my dad pulled the front end out of the water, I glanced to my right and spied, on a stump with some moss, sundews (Drosera rotundifolia, to be precise).
Of course I recognized therm instantly—they're hard to mistake, with those the sparkling tentacles and all. I gathered 3 or so of them (I know