As part of our mid-year performance review process, I’m supposed to send my manager what I consider to be my three greatest accomplishments so far this year.
I really wanted to put “haven’t quit yet” somewhere in that list.
Whenever things get to be too much, I always develop this immediate and pressing need to go home.
The only problem is, I don’t really have one. Not in the sense my mind needs.
For many reasons I won’t go into at the moment, I hadn’t felt at home in my parents’ house since about the age of 9.
Since then, I’ve been wandering. I used to be able to partially satiate this need with close friends or girlfriends, until I realized that I was just suppressing it. I was distracting myself. Until Maggie (and to a lesser extend, my best friend Jessica), I didn’t really have anyone whose presence gave me any actual relief.
When I tell my problems to Maggie, it’s often like they seem trivial once they’re out of my mouth in comparison to what I’ve got going for me. They’re still pressing, but I have that seed of belief that I can deal with it.
Though, truth be told, the Maggie-effect doesn’t always work. Sometimes, when I’ve sold myself short, or let something slip that I should have grabbed onto, I find myself unable to tell her. I feel guilty that I’ve gotten myself into a position I know I had a choice in, but ended up with because I made an obviously stupid choice or, worse yet, I didn’t decide and ended up there by default.
I can’t look at her when she asks me “what’s up” in those situations. As much as she knows that the Jeremy capable of getting into that predicament is the Jeremy she married, I know without thinking that she also married the Jeremy that is capable of never having to end up there to begin with.
I can’t avert her look forever, though. Once I’m caught, looking at her reminds me, simultaneously, of the best that I am and the worst that I am. It fills my head with a cognitive dissonance that sickens me. The distance between these two extremes is nigh unfathomable. How someone capable of the great things I like to think I am can let himself get so far behind is upsetting, to say the least. It can be a worse feeling than failing alone.
In the course of this downward turn, I’m yet reminded that there’s still tomorrow. One thing may end, but there is no end to more beginnings. I remember that there’s nothing that can’t be fixed, patched or made up for with perseverance. Effort won’t kill you.
Though, sometimes you wish it would.
Q:What do u do to de-stress yourself?
Such a GREAT question…
Well, there is that thing that you mentioned in my ask. Although I can’t do that all the time.
My main problem with de-stressing is that I rarely like to do the same de-stressing activity for too long. I actually stress myself out trying to figure out a way to relax.
Sometimes I rewatch my favourite shows… Firefly, Buffy, Doctor Who, etc. Or favourite movies. Though, I’ll end up just browsing the web while it’s on in the background.
I like making stuff. Decorative stuff sometimes, sometimes little machine-type things, rarely I’ll enjoy writing some code. Honestly, I really dislike the actual work of programming. I enjoy thinking of how things can be done, just not actually doing them. Or debugging them. Or supporting them. Actually, as an extremely extroverted person, computer engineering just seems like a surprising field to be in.
Back to what I do to de-stress. I like photography, and sometimes I enjoy doing that. Actually doing something with the photos, or often figuring out what I want to shoot drives me nuts.
Board games. Card games. Catan. Mahjong. Munchkin. Only problem is it’s hard to play games with only two of us in the house.
Listening to rain banging against a window or a roof. Makes me drowsy and content.
Considering your age, Annie, my dear, you might want to stop reading here.
Sex. Often (not always) sex can be a great stress reliever. To deal with small, persistent worries, long, slow and sensual is the way to go. When the stress is really bad, harder, faster, more acrobatic and seriously more exhausting is in order. Or both. Or one after the other.