Cocoa sits at the edge of her property, watching the street. Gate closed or open, she doesn’t cross the line. She knows her boundaries, does Cocoa. Oh, she’ll come out if you ask her to. Pat your thighs and you’ll hear the clack-clack of her overgrown nails on the pavement. But if you don’t tell her to come out, she won’t. Continue reading
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Plants, plants, everywhere there are plants.
I spent most of the day thinking about it, and failing to come up with anything. Eventually I said to hell with it, I’m going to make a pizza, maybe I can post about how delicious the pizza was. Or the recipe. Or something. Continue reading
Someone once told me not to let my anxiety define me. I just shook my head. Anxiety is as much a part of who I am as anything else. What should I let define me?
Should it be my blondeness that defines me? Or my height? Should I define myself in terms of favorite pastimes? Maybe I could define myself as a woman who loves chocolate. But you know, until seven or eight years ago, I couldn’t admit publicly to liking chocolate. I had (and have still) a great fear that I would be teased for a liking of chocolate. Because of the anxiety. Which defines me.
Yes, I am a woman who loves chocolate. I love my plants and my cats, so we can define me as a woman who loves plants and cats. I have big tits. I have gorgeous eyes. Define me thus as a large-breasted woman with gorgeous eyes. I make good spaghetti, and amazing chocolate pie. I am bright and funny. And I am terrified of you.
I am terrified of all of you, and that does define me as much as my eyes or my cats or the chocolate on my lips; it defines me every bit as well as the sharpness of my wit or the jangle of my laughter.
It’s not like some recent development; I’ve always been this way, as far back as I can remember. So… quit telling me that I shouldn’t accept it. I accept it. This is me. My anxiety and social phobia – my avoidant personality – is my personality. Telling me to refuse it space in my life is absurd.
I’m here. I fear. Get used to it.
So, I’ve been told I need to maintain a blog. A blog, of all things. I hate blogs. But I’ve been told I must have one, so here it is.
I’ve been dithering about this for months now. I had to look it up, first, to even know what the hell a blog was. Then I had to visit some, to get the idea. I came to the conclusion blogging is almost the exact opposite of what I would normally do with my time. Keeping a blog is in direct contrast to who I am.
I’ve got, at the very least, severe social anxiety. I exhibit all the symptoms of an avoidant personality, so publicly expressing my opinions is not something I do. Anyone who knows me (there’s not many of you) would be floored to see me doing this. I’m uncomfortable ordering food in a restaurant, for crying out loud, and you want me to express myself on the internet?
But they do say that it’s good to do new things, so here I am. With a blog.
Maybe one day, I’ll actually have something to say.