I have always been a worrier. I've given up trying to figure out where that came from. One of my earliest memories of worry is of being no more than five years old, if that, and becoming overly worried about going blind. I don't know if I had just seen a Helen Keller movie or what, but I was sick with worry. I was crying and my dad asked me what was wrong and after much coaxing on his part I ran to his lap, shaking I could barely spit it out as I sobbed that I was afraid I was going to go blind one day. He laughed out of stunned disbelief and relief I guess that it wasn't something more serious. I was inconsolable though.
My worrying grew as did I. I was sick a lot as a kid, always getting tonsillitis, mumps, chickenpox, strep throat, plagued with ear problems, headaches....on and on. Being highly energetic and sick a lot was a bad mix. While in bed, while on the sofa sipping 7up and eating crackers with cheese to sooth a fluish gut I would fixate and worry about the worst. I remember once when I had a particularly bad bout of the mumps I ran upstairs to the bathroom and being just a child, had never passed out before. I guess having a fever and running upstairs did me in, I started to black out in front of my mom. I was looking at myself in the mirror screaming, "I'm going blind!!!!" as the dark blotches of unconsciousness filled into one dark pool. I dropped to the floor. I had fevers so high I hallucinated and freaked my mom out in the middle of the night talking about that woman with a gun trying to kidnap me. I hated being a kid. I didn't think I would ever grow up.
Then as I got older, I started worrying that I wouldn't finish school. Wouldn't make it. Somehow I slid through the cracks. To this day I don't know how I graduated when I never took the social science test on the Constitution, it was a pre-requisite for graduating. How I passed when I skipped every day, went half a day/worked the other and graduated half a year early is beyond me. I always worried I wouldn't graduate.
When I started drinking I worried less. I only worried about what I did the night before, many times I felt so bad I couldn't even worry. I moved myself out to Arizona and worried how I was going to make it. Somehow I did. I had a few more health scares, and lots more worries about what I did the night before. Almost twenty more years of those worries. What a slow learner.
When my massage/work pain kicked in I worried about how I would support myself. I won't forget that once in my 20's I only had $20 to my name and no credit cards. That was the sickest feeling. It isn't easy to be a mess, eventually you have to pull yourself together and crawl out of it. Do whatever it takes. It's draining fore it is a heavy force that takes much effort to crawl out from. Many times in my life I have crawled away only to find myself under it again and again.
So tonight, as I lay in bed with three hours of sleep under my belt I finally get up. The cloud of worry passing over me, I decide to get up away from it. I keep pushing worry away. I worry I will never use my saws because I still don't have a table for them. There are many things I have to do and fix and figure out, sometimes getting things done is like pulling teeth. Tod is busy trying to get his own life working again, it's difficult when I am a do it now/help me now and he is slower and much more easy going, it isn't his shit to worry about anyhow. I worry too much about having ALL THIS STUFF. Every time I go get more goods for art I have to acclimatize to it. After the day of getting, the day of cleaning ~ comes the day of putting it somewhere. Today I will have to sort it and find a place for it. The excitement gets shadowed by what on earth am I doing with all this stuff...what if.....what if. I have no choice it seems but to keep going forward. I've made it that way. I have worked hard the last month or two not to complain on the blog. Focus on what is happening that is useful to me rather than bog anyone, myself included, down. I think it is a delicate dance, we each have our own personal races to run. The bigger picture not even known until after the fact. This isn't just about me making art and trying to find a place for it/me to make a living from. I feel like I am in the thick of it so I can't even see the forest for the trees.
Maybe the whole point is to lose myself. To just let go. Maybe that is why all those years were spent getting black out drunk. I was trying to lose myself, just going about it the wrong way. That isn't the right kind of losing yourself. I'm trying to lose myself to my true SELF. It is a constant hammering away of the thick protective wall, the sheath of alabaster that covers people like me who thought the self needed to be sturdy, tough, resistant, a blow fish if you will... puffed up to scare people away. When in fact, a strong self is one that is flexible, a lose clump of atoms that are adaptable and malleable. I'm gonna go lose myself now in the basement.