Into the Woods…

Posted: January 3, 2014 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , ,
Red wasn't on her way to Grandmother's house...

Red wasn’t on her way to Grandmother’s house

This isn’t the first time, and probably not the last time, I’ve said this: I really don’t know where some of my thoughts come from.

Sometimes I wish I could blame the voices, but I don’t actually hear voices.  I frequently get a song stuck in my head, and when my A.D.D. is acting up, the song stuck in my head can get louder and more insistent.  I’ve started referring to it as ‘soundtracking’ (as in having my very own personal movie sound track) because I recognize it as a sign that my flow of thought is out of sync with my current environment.  Sometimes I start soundtracking when I’m bored and my mind is looking for ways to entertain itself.  Sometimes I soundtrack because things are getting frantic and my world is starting to run at ninety mph and my brain is starting to run at one-twenty mph and it needs to do something with that extra thirty mph and I need to take a deep breath and slow down but there’s no time for that and…

Would a hypothetical Buddhist make an if-zen statement?

Would a hypothetical Buddhist make an if-zen statement?

You would think I would notice when things start getting that frenetic, but I tend to live in the ever changing now.  Now is a place with no duration- because duration is the gap between now and then and there is no then, only now- and therefore no speed or velocity, because those are relationships between duration and location.  My mind jumps tracks all the time, and it can take a red flag like “Oh, shit, I’m soundtracking again!” for me to realize that I’m no longer jumping tracks in a way that helps me be mistress of my chaotic environment but now jumping tracks in a way that adds chaos into an environment that threatens to master me back.

It’s very liberating and therapeutic to write about the mysteries of my own mind.  I figured out long ago that I was a square peg in a world of round holes, which has been a mixed blessing throughout my life.  My father encouraged me to be an independent thinker, to stay outside the box, and to be that one step smarter, harder-working, and nicer than everyone around me so that the world would give me the space to be my own unique person.  Unfortunately, the world wasn’t in on the script, so despite being independent, creative, intelligent, and diligent, I nevertheless wrestle with low self-esteem because I not only marched to a different drum, I marched in the completely wrong parade.  It’s difficult to say “my mind works differently from everyone else’s” without hearing “my mind doesn’t work right”.

...And I feel scared...

…And I feel scared…

Some my mental quirks are just quirks.  For example, I’m a very verbal thinker.  I think in words, not pictures.  It lets me operate at a much higher vocabulary than most people around me, skews my sense of humor towards puns and word play, but also limits my ability to remember how something I’ve seen looked because I cannot visualize with my ‘mind’s eye’.  Some of my mental quirks are terribly frustrating.  I may only have discovered recently that the label ‘A.D.D.’ applies to me, but I’ve lived with it for years.  I recently had to search for my keys three different times, running late for a job interview,  because I kept putting them down while I was looking for other essentials I also needed.  I rarely run late, but only because things like this happen so often that I routinely build time for them into my schedule.  Often my mental quirks are funny, an opportunity for those around me to laugh, sometimes with me, sometimes at me.  Last summer, the cousins and I went on a road trip, an nine or ten hour drive.  I threw a foil-wrapped two-pack of pop-tarts on the dash, a snack for when I got hungry on the drive.  Debbie drove the first leg of the trip.  I got the second leg.  Aaron, Debbie’s boyfriend, had the third leg.  As I got back into the passenger seat, I spied the snack waiting on the dash, and exclaimed “Ooh, pop-tarts!”  Aaron, Debbie, and Claire laughed then, and since the trip have called out “Ooh, pop-tarts!” whenever I flake out on them.  And then there are the quirks that are embarrassing and hard to talk about… For example, I’m never quite sure how to talk about my firsty.  In one obvious sense, we are the same person.  But there are two personas, and I switch between them.  Mostly, but not exclusively, when my firsty sits down at the computer to log out of First Life and into Second Life.  When my firsty was trying to select some clothing to give his wife for Christmas, he rapidly got frustrated, particularly since he hates shopping.  I, on the other hand, love shopping and spend a lot of time doing it.  I also have a better eye for women’s clothing than he does.  I made some damn good choices.  But how do I talk about switching between being me and being him without sounding not just quirky but actually clinically diagnosable?  So I just try to keep my mouth shut.

Coming down from the fairy castle...

Coming down from the fairy castle…

But by blogging, I can air my mental laundry, so to speak.  I have a forum where I can ramble about the mysteries inside my own head, where I can confess that I’m not really sure why and how some of the things that pop out of my mind do so.  I have a place to put my thoughts and confusions into words.  Remember, I’m a verbal thinker, so until the thought is in words, it’s just an amorphous semi-thought.  It also astonishes me how frequently I sit down to blog about one topic only to have the stream of my consciousness pull me in a completely different direction.  For example, I started this very posting with two goals.

The first goal, of course, was to somehow bring up what I’m wearing today, since this blog is my fashion journal.  My skin is Tessa from WoW Skins.  My hair is Kiesha in half-tone red from +Redd+.  The very cute, off-the-shoulder, black dress is the Mel Dress from Cheeky.  I’ve got several accessories from Grumble, Grumble.  I really liked the dangly earrings I was wearing in my last post, and the snake bracelet I won from a Grumble lucky chair while I was writing my last post, so I kept them on.  The slashed leggings and the red ‘Colorado’ boots I’m wearing are also from Grumble, Grumble.  The second goal, was to write about the mystery of why an outfit more reminiscent of 80s clubbing and a dark forest setting somehow made me think of Little Red Riding Hood.  (Which is why I’m also carrying a picnic basket in my pictures today.)  In the first two paragraphs, that was my goal.  Instead, I wandered onto a tangent about the more general mystery of my random and unpredictable mind.  I can only say one thing in my defense…

“Ooh!  Pop-tarts!”


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