It is currently 11:50am and I should be at a rehearsal for the solo I’ve been given, for Christmas, in ten minutes. Unfortunately, my car won’t start.
Whilst sat in my car, turning the key over in the ignition, only to hear the moans and groans of a frozen battery, I couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. This situation would usually be a dream. A gift from God. An excuse to give whoever I happened to be meeting to get out of meeting them. Ah yes. My anxiety. I usually get anxious when I have a list of things to accomplish and, at the same time, a yearning to stay at home and do nothing. It’s a little more complex than that, but you get the point. In the past I would have made up a lie like “my car won’t start” or, “this last minute group project has come up and I can’t get out of their stupid meeting time” to avoid work, social events, church events…did I mention work? Then today happened. I was truly excited about getting to my rehearsal on time and going to drop in to hang out with M and K.. aaaaaaand my car won’t start. What a pain.
So now I’ve come back inside to do the only thing I can do when my anxiety is this high. Write.
Lately I’ve been thinking hard about what I want to do with my life. I thought teaching was where I wanted to be, and maybe teaching at a higher level than grade school is the answer, but writing holds my heart. I’m not sure where to start but my first thought is to find a job, any job, that involves writing. I don’t care if it’s minute taking, technical writing, freelance journalism, editing students papers, being a TA, whatever. If it gets me into either a university setting, or a permanent writing gig, I’m down.
In the meantime, my anxiety is now at an all time high and I’m frustrated because this week was going to be an awesome one. Now I feel like crap. Eff.