Lola Was a Showgirl
Me: I remember that Lola was a showgirl, but what was Rico again?
Dan: A goddamn murderer, Swiss. Are you high?
Readers, I wasn’t. This time. I just couldn’t remember the lyrics, and it bugged me.
I also caught hella side-eye from Dan for absentmindedly singing the J. G. Wentworth jingle yesterday, but clapped back immediately, “I’m not the one who watches TV all day. Why do I have to pay the price?”
Dan kept on walking. His silence a clear indicator that I had won a round.
I’m back, bitches!
I don’t know how long less-anxious me is going to stick around between episodes, but it feels good to have my mind free from anxiety’s death grip right now. It’s been a minute.
Speaking of death grips. I’ve been trying very intentionally to grip my Rollator less tightly. Now that I’m aware—thanks to my lung function testing—I’m noticing when I white knuckle the handles so hard my hands don’t register a pulse. It’s pretty much every time I stand up.
No wonder walking makes me see stars! I’ve been anxious about falling for too long.
It’s easiest for me to relax my hands, arms, and shoulders first thing in the morning, and it gets worse as my body comes online and remembers to be freaked out. It seems to be a combo of cortisol and muscle memory that trigger fight or flight once I’m coherent.
I imagine it’ll take some time to relax and exercise my way out of this paper bag. That’s okay. I can deal with hard shit when I understand it, and I am starting to understand how my anxiety works.
I had a small breakthrough while listening to a talk on addiction by Tara Brach. At first I wasn’t going to even listen to this week’s podcast because I was thinking alcohol, sex, shopping, and drugs weren’t really my problem.
But I am addicted to answers, and when I started thinking of my diagnostic side quests here lately, well, I wasn’t exactly making space for my anxiety. The first part of the talk is broad anyway. I found it very helpful.