Easily Overwhelmed

I am easily overwhelmed.

Ever since I was a wee thing I have worried myself sick. Literally sick. At en early age I became a list maker. During class I would make lists of what to do when I got home from school, I designed my outfits for school weeks in advance (though, what lil' gay boy didn't?), and I underlined every TV show I wanted to watch in the TV Guide. I designed for myself a structured life. We'll not get into the "why" because I really have no answers.

Whenever things came in great heaping batches - even good things - I found myself disconcerted and dizzy. I remember the first packet I got from Colt Studio (Mmmmmm...) when I was a curious adolescent. (I had lied and said, Of course I'm 18!) It was the first porn I had ever ordered. I received it in a large brown package and it was stuffed full of postcards, pamphlets, and pretty men with powerful penises (enjoy that illiteration?). There were so many of them I didn't know what to do or where to begin. The will power, the sheer determination, it took to get through that packet without creaming my pants...well, I should have received an award. Or gone to a doctor because it had been at least four hours.

Shopping was - is - the same. Having money didn't change anything. I still come out of clothing stores sometimes empty-handed due to indecision. Why is there so damned much of everything...and nothing?

I remember the first time I saw the inside of my college gym. I had been working out since I was 13 or 14, but I had always done it at home. I was actually quite pumped by the time I hit college. Well, my mouth dropped at the sight of the weight room and it had nothing to do with the choice of men. My mind swam. There was so much equipment there. How was I supposed to decide what to use? I didn't get anything accomplished that first day. I was freaking out. I had to calm myself down, head home, and put together a routine from what I saw. It got much easier after that.

This sense of overwhelm has made its way into my writing career as well. I have such a long list of outlines and story ideas that I don't know how I will ever get to them all. Okay. I'll admit it. I won't. Yet the list sits there on my desk leering at me. Undressing me with its I's. And I say to all of those stories, "I want to write you! I really do. But where's the time? Stop harassing me!"

And that's what it comes down to, all this overwhelm, all this anxious tittering. I'm afraid I won't get everything I want done before I'm done. Not just in writing, but in everything. In life. I hate (Read: LOVE) to get all philosophical here, but that's what's wrong with the world. We work for the future and have become enemies of the now. We're always thinking three books ahead. At least I am.

All my damn lists! I wish I could live without them, and I'm trying. I am. But it's going to take a while. Maybe I should see a shrink about it. I'll need to put that down on my list of things to do.

D'oh!