Mental Health Days

Growing up, Adam’s mom allowed for what she defined as “mental health days.” Whenever life got too overbearing, Adam was able to stay home from school and veg out, recover.

I thought this was such a brilliant concept. Although, in hindsight, I likely would’ve never graduated had I taken such liberties. Every other day would’ve been a mental health day.

After Gray Monday, I surrendered to the fact that my Tuesday was primed and lubed for nothing less. For the record, it’s really hard for me to give myself time off, but I’m learning that if I don’t, things get worse -- fast.

So yesterday was nothing more than painting, picking up a gift for a friend’s newborn and talking with several friends that are peppered across the country.

I had to sacrifice another day’s forward progress in order to prevent a mild mental disconnect. And it was so worth it.

I made it until about 2:00pm before the pain in my right ear had me nearly vomiting. I pondered a trip to the hospital. This is, by far, the most physical pain I’ve experienced in quite some time. Instead, I consumed what was left of my share of the brownies, resulting in about 2 and ½ hours of alleviation.

I also swallowed as many homeopathies as I thought could apply to my situation. I haven’t been able to eat or sleep for about 4 days now.

Last night, I got out for a cool stroll around the neighborhood: it was cool and foggy and gorgeous outside.

For the past couple weeks while the show’s LLC paperwork has been processing, I’ve been trying to formulate the exact pitching plan of attack. Something’s been missing and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but the solution has been marinating and percolating on my mind’s peripherals.

Last night on the walk, the solution surfaced, just like that. The answer was right in front of me.

And so, once again, I recognized the fact that I needed to ease up on trying to force things forward. I took a day off and by the day’s end had the answer to the question that’s been plaguing me for weeks.

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On the side:

I have an email rule and that rule is: no emails after consuming more than 2 drinks. I doubt I have to explain this rule any further….

The thing with this rule that’s been snagging me up recently is the fact that the limit has a variable reaction to the amount of food that is consumed before the drinks. As I said I haven’t been eating and at night have been having a glass of wine to try and help me to sleep.

I get overly loving and esoteric when I drink (which is far better than the old aggressive and unrelenting predator that used to come out).

Luckily, my friends are understanding enough to forgive any correspondences that may find themselves the result of my experiments.

This drinking rule also heavily applies to blogging. Sometimes I read over a blog and think, “ What the fuck am I doing? Am I crazy to put this shit out there?”

But what do I care? I recognize that it has the potential to come back and bite me in the ass, but for the time being, I’m having fun. I was able last night to define my blogging as theatrical voyeurism. (And here I was just thinking that I had gotten past the whole wanting to be the center of attention….) ;)

What can I say? I’m a storyteller.

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