The One Where I Get Smelly

What a 12 hours it has been. Quick second--I need more coffee.

There we go. Now, let’s see if I can blend this coffee mixture without it exploding over the kitchen for the second time.

It’s been a hell of a 12 hours. The kind that you just want to laugh at because it’s ridiculousness wages a war on your senses and you can’t figure out which way is up and which way is down.

I’ve always been a procrastinator. I’d say it’s a superpower of mine. I’d wait until midnight to start studying for that day’s math test and then throw a fit over the mad dash and pressure as if time was a new concept and I was the Universe’s guinea pig. I still wait until the last possible second to leave the house in order to get someplace on time, and have a talent at figuring out how to find just enough activities each morning that I don’t quite give myself enough time to get dressed and properly groomed. I’m usually eating while I drive, especially heading to evening performances. I’ve heard it said that people who procrastinate and run late lack respect, and I don’t doubt that there’s an element of selfishness in it, but I don’t think that’s the full scope of things. My mid to late twenties has shown great improvement in this area, but every now and again I like to indulge in my deeply-rooted foibles. And I’ve got a hunch about them. I’ve got a hunch that I relish in the danger of sliding in just under the limit, like closing the garage door and running to duck under it. I enjoy that game, too. Adrenaline is a high and when we haven’t got lions chasing us, we have to get our kicks where we can, eh?

When you become so skilled at making sure you’ll always achieve your goal right as the clock strikes twelve, it becomes a subconscious addiction. The great reward after a stressful day. The glass of cold water after the blazing heat. You get the idea. Especially when your professional field is 79% adrenaline, you get addicted to a high without realizing it. And that can push a person to take on more tasks than time allows, usually ending in an entrancing, bedazzled and sequined, carrot-on-a-stick dilemma (I’m in musical theatre, everything’s gotta be bedazzled). The task at hand becomes “how do I break it all into bite-sized pieces without losing my mind every week?” And what if saying “no” simply doesn’t work for you? What if you’re a person who thrives off the speed and occasionally unhealthy habits of “busy”? I’ve come to see that I don’t want to slow down. It’s my speed. I’ve spent 28 years thinking of the roadrunner mentality as a negative attribute, along with the anxiety that comes with it, but the truth of the matter is that every human runs at a different speed. Running at a higher speed is in no way a negative thing, it merely means you must learn how to use the brake so that you don’t burn the engine out. That was so darn corny, and I’m keeping it in here because I made myself laugh at the icky, overused metaphor.

Anxiety has played an incredible role throughout history. In Sarah Wilson’s book, First, We Make the Beast Beautiful, she describes anxious people and animals as the ones who saved others from danger. They were the lookouts, the ones who cried out when an animal was looming nearby. It serves an important purpose, anxiety and worry, and I’m of high belief that Mother Nature and the Universe knew what they were doing when they scattered the traits among us. Western medicine is incredible, but as in any science, there are flaws. Our mental health sector often labels conditions or patterns as “bad” or “normal”. (my own personal experience). Some personalities jive better with the society they were born into, and when your mode of processing the world is incongruous with the society’s norms, anxiety and depression result. Yes, genetics. Yes, imbalances. Absolutely to all of that. But in addition, when we change the perception of our “flaws”, we gain power and even learn to love them. I’m an anxious individual. I worry a lot. I also remember details. I’m emotionally intelligent. I’m an excellent caretaker, because I think of what could go wrong before I let it happen...well, except for the story I’m about to tell, but we’ll get there...My superpower is my anxiety. Now, back to procrastination...

The darker side of procrastination is perfectionism, and the staving off of tasks and deadlines because the fear of not measuring up or getting it “right” is too gripping to move forward. That side is the devil in disguise that every creative will or has faced countless times. That type of procrastination is fear of failure. It kept me from trying new things until I was surrounded by people who told me repeatedly that I could. The gripping reality that if I choose to do this, I’m accepting failure in a million different ways, but if I don’t choose to do it I’m accepting complete defeat. Procrastination is a daily struggle, making it imperative to build up an arsenal of tools.

I currently have the habit of calling myself out loudly when I exhibit signs of fear-based procrastination. I was late to almost every coffee date this past week. That wasn’t fear, that was me staying up late with the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and sleeping through alarms. But, last night? Last night I waited to go to the grocery store until 10:45 pm, knowing my stack of coupons would expire in an hour’s time, because I was editing and writing and I was afraid that if I left, I’d lose my creative flow and it would be gone for weeks. Kind of ridiculous, but I momentarily lost all faith in my mind and the power of coffee, and didn’t leave my chair for 5 hours except to get more water (wine). I finally left, and wouldn’t you know it? The store closed a minute before I arrived to CLEAN THE FLOORS. I don’t think it was a sign directed specifically for me, Sarah Laughland, but you better believe I formed it into one. Procrastination was standing there laughing hysterically in my face, holding up the 6 dollars and 50 cents that could have been mine. Drats.

Following my bruised pride home from the grocery store was a tired lady, who let one of the dogs I was watching outside before bed (the other was sound asleep), and then promptly fell asleep herself. She awoke to find that not only had she forgotten to let the sweet pup in, but that he had gotten sprayed by a skunk. Let me repeat that, I awoke in the wee hours of the morning to find that a dog that doesn’t belong to me, that I have been charged to take care of, had been sprayed by some rude-as-hell rodent and now my worst nightmares were materializing. I’m sitting here, some odd hours later, drinking my 3rd cup of coffee and I am incredibly proud of the fact that I have not cried yet. Another thing about anxious people--we work frightfully well under heightened circumstances. It’s the daily mental woes that seems too much. Anyways, I’ve bathed the boy and he was shockingly calm and helpful the whole time. With the options of fight, flight or freeze before him, he definitely froze, and I’m grateful because he isn’t a small dog. In the course of bathing him, the other pup decided to throw up her food and eat it because dogs are smarter than humans and have figured out that you can have a second meal if you just don’t fully chew the first. And then I used the blender. And it famously did what blenders have been historically known to do when one loosens their grip. So, it’s been a good day so far. I have yet to rid the house of the smell, and I’m sure we’ll all laugh about this one day, but for now here’s my plea to you. Use the damn coupons the moment you get them.

Not sure how to feel about his caretaker.

But, look see? I's can help too.