One of the joys of having Avoidant Personality Disorder tendencies means exactly that, I avoid things. Doesn't really matter what it is, but in the mind of the ADD, when you have literally a thousand things buzzing around, the one thing I need to be doing is the one thing I can't. It can be anything from the laundry, (I've washed and rinsed the current load at least four times and still can't quite bring myself to hang it out) opening mail, (I can't even begin to tell you how much anxiety that one gives me) or perhaps making a phone call, but seriously, almost anything can set me off.
At the moment it is my quarterly taxes which are due at the end of the month. So what have I been doing while flagellating myself at the ineptitude of not being able to click a few freaking buttons? Well last Friday I had a sick kid so obviously I baked.
We'd been apple picking last week Monday and had a metric fuck ton of apples to pie, juice, and cake. Naturally this was the perfect excuse for myself and a friend to pool our collective apples and kids and made pies, cake, apple core agrodolce (this is amazing fyi) and apple skin chips. Not a single apple shall be wasted dear friends. Delicious smells, delicious things and cute toddlers happened. What did not happen, was my bloody taxes.
|Totally worth it right?|
|How can you argue with this?|
|It's super exhausting being that cute.|
This week its masks. I've been promising myself I would make a fancy dress box for Monkey, a thing that I have been putting off for ages. Clearly with the clock ticking on the taxes I rode my ass to Etsy and found some patters from this awesome designer Oxeyedaisy and got cracking. There I am up to my eyeballs in embroidery floss and felt making a fox and an owl, when I should be starting fucking taxes or at the very least some prep for Christmas presents and designs for illustrations.
|Who needs taxes when you have masks?|
"Come on, it's not hard Zoe, pull you head out of your arse and just do it." And yet it all seems so shagging difficult. I talk myself through it, like a mantra;
Rational me: Come on you bloody loser, get off your arse and get behind the computer and log in, it will take 10 mins and you are done.
Crazy me: True, but I just need to finish this fly stitch.
Rational me: Yeah, but it's not going anywhere and if you don't get this shit sorted, you get a fine.
Bargaining me: I am totally gonna do it this evening, I promise.
Rational me: But your med's will have worn off and you will have another excuse.
Denial me: No I won't, I'll totally do the thing, you just watch.
Evening rolled around with an emotionally and physically exhausted me lying on the sofa, spooning the dog, hiding from my judgmental alter ego. I could hear myself softly in the background of my brain taunting me like a smart arse older sibling doing the "told you so" dance.
Do you have any idea how pathetic it is to lie to yourself (especially when you are the worst liar in the world) and know you are doing it, and yet still find a way to believe it.
I've tried post it notes stuck in obvious places until they become part of the furniture. I've tried alarms, rewards and alcohol, (totally a reward too) but unless I am in The Zone shit does not get done. When I am in The Zone though......shit gets DONE! I am bionic, on fire no less. A whirling dervish of productivity and decisions. Watch out taxes, you are mine! Nothing is impossible. It's just a bloody shame that The Zone is a dick who only shows up at the last damn minute or a week after a deadline. Fuck you Zone, and the horse you rode in on.
The biggest problem with The Zone and personality disorders is that when you are in it, (The Zone) nothing can set you of course. My dining table doubles as my work space which is a dangerous combination. We also, shockingly, have to eat here three times a day. I will try to eke out a small space to dine, around the pins, pens, paper fabric and other miscellanea that comprise my zone du jour, but I can't possibly tidy my shit away because the phrase "out of sight, out of mind" is taken very literally by those of us who are this way inclined. If I put it away it will never get finished. It's impossible to guess how many unfinished projects there are in my house, all collateral damage from tidying.
I started writing this on Monday. Fate and the flu became besties on Monday (post IKEA run, also fuck you IKEA you germ ridden slut) night as I was hit with the Flu on Tuesday morning. Fully fledged, my skin hurts, whimpering into your pillow flu. The kind that you think you'll never get, the one that other people get and you think are making up, the flu that makes you want to punch yourself in the throat for missing your flu shots three weeks ago, you know the one.
Also on a side note, I totally wrote an awesome blog post in my head whilst sweating and sobbing called The flu and Fibromyalgia are Dicks. but shockingly like all my imaginary blog posts, I can't remember it. It was funny, of this I am sure.
So there I am pleading with my rational self, "see look, I have an actual legitimate excuse to not be doing my taxes" and at the same time thinking WTF Zoe, you are totally dying here and also you were going to make brown butter and bourbon banana bread (it's the shit) and not do your fucking taxes at all you lying cow-bag.
My point is, (in my own convoluted way) apart from the smorgas bord of fucked up-ness I live with daily, avoiding what I need to do (and the point apparently) is the bane of my life. It's funny sometimes but facing the simplest of tasks, emotions or situations can and is a debilitating bloody nightmare.
So here I am, sitting behind my computer on Wednesday evening writing this when I could have done my taxes. This is my commitment to you friend, and you're welcome. Also I am totally sending you the fine from the tax office.
I leave you with the ovary exploding cuteness of apple picking. Autumn at it's finest, because who wants their last sentence to involve taxes.
Yes I know I totally finished with the T word.