Hi. I have a short story due (for the class that I love so much that if I had a penis I would sport wood from 6-8 every Wednesday) this week, which makes this an official Go Fuck Yourself (GFY) week. Yay!
GFY week started a few years ago when I was cranky and stressed out during some project and responded to anyone who asked how I was with, “Go Fuck Yourself.” The incantation might not have been audible with every exchange, but it was there.
This time around GFY is made extra special maddening because I have a lot of nerves about starting a new freelance assignment tomorrow and a lot of excitement about the Twin Cities Book Festival this weekend. I want everything (job, story, fair) to go well so that means the only thing I can possibly do is worry. Worry always works, right? So we have workshop jitters and new assignment jitters and pre-event excitment working with my innate spazziness making it heaps of fun here at Supergenius HQ.
We all have our own ways and means of dealing with anxiety. Some people drink, some people exercise, some people take heroin, I spaz. At least mentally. It’s as though my brain cannot handle what’s going on so it just decides to think about everything all at once, whirring and whirring from one topic to the next, never really doing any actual thinking but rather toying with a million ideas that perhaps I should think about eventually when I have more time.
If I didn’t know this was the last stage before the getting things done stage I’d be really quite annoyed. I bet I’ve spent a majority of my day (you know aside from the hour I spent on the phone with AT&T tech support who not only solved my voicemail problem but also laughed at my joke about hour ironic it would be if Ziggy dropped the call while on the phone with them) going from the kitchen to the La-Z-Grrl and back because I forgot what I was doing/getting/wanted to eat.
The bad news? Still two more days of being Spazzy McGee. The good news? My Supergenius HQ is totally clean.