SWALLOWING STRESS
I was always a very
high strung child. Luckily for the most part we always lived out in
the country and I could avoid people for long stretches of time. As
I got older, and a corresponding increase in chores, physical labor
along with solitude ( with books ) pretty much handled my stress.
After I got married the first time, hour long jogs substituted for
strangling the spouse. The exponential increase in stress with Baby
Mama was harder to tame, but it gave me huge amounts of energy at
work.
*
I treated my
displeasure with wife no4, as well as the stress from the job working
for bitch bosses, by working harder and faster. As you might recall,
Christmas is far from my favorite season, the joy of it taking a huge
squishy from the first holiday without my kids and getting worse as
retailers turned a quarter of the year into extra work for their own
profit. One time I was working for Family Dollar ( may their
executives be boiled alive in liquid feces for all eternity in the
lower bowels of Hell ) and between all the extra crap showing up in
August, and doing the managers job for her, I was steaming mad.
*
Keep in mind I'm the
only guy there, so I'm schlepping freight all week long, being the
assistant manager on top of that, and now covering for a new manager
who probably needed to get laid she was so worthless. Oh, but Jim,
now we need you to hand write every single bar code, quantity ( think
scores of tiny decorations ), pack it and put it all up twenty feet
in the loft for storage for next year, on top of your normal duties.
I was so pissed I was literally running up the vertical ladder, heavy
boxes carried one handed and throwing them overhand up into the loft,
while mumbling curses.
*
I was in my
mid-thirties, still strong of muscle and endurance. And of course,
you know with that kind of temper and energy, the boss just pisses
you off on purpose to get an extra man shift performance, free. That
was my last job, at the food bank. Bitch boss rode me like a rabid
pony, and as much as I wanted to kick her in the knee to take down
her fat ass, straddle her body and put all my weight into pulverizing
her face, I had to contain myself and take out my hate on inanimate
objects. Even her dumb ass eventually figured out how to push my
buttons for even more work, free.
*
Well, by now you might
be seeing the issue. You are only fleet of foot and infused with
unlimited energy while young. Once you get old, not only does your
job throw you under the bus ( because an aging manual worker should
ease into management but now all the females hold those positions ),
you can't rely on physical work to burn off the stress. I HAD to
quit the food bank, not only because if I stayed I would have hurt
the boss, but also because I was starting to slow down. I was
huffing and puffing, and at night I was a lot more sore. It would
have just been a matter of time.
*
Now, even though 90% of
my stress was gone along with the job, remember what I said about
being high strung. Without extra exercise, what was a brother to do
about stress? At first, I just wrote more, as writing was a large
stress release also, for twenty years. Just vomit all that
frustration and hate onto the page. And it worked for some time.
But then we started seeing an unfortunate trend, or at least I did,
and the economy started imploding. Now my stress was back with a
vengeance. Writing until my brain hurt, then staying busy reading
didn't help. I was writing and reading doom and gloom.
*
And again, extra
exercise wasn't an option. I worked like a mule, until suddenly (
seemingly ) one day I couldn't even do twenty percent of what I had
been. And it isn't sitting at a desk for the last two and a half
years. The week I quite the food bank, I was out at my place trying
to take up up digging the latest hole. I couldn't do it back then.
Now, granted, I can't bike every day like I used to, so biking out
there I had no energy to dig. If I was living out there, I could
still dig. Perhaps for fifteen minutes, half hour. If I did nothing
else the rest of the day.
*
I have the muscles
still, but far too many years of working and biking outside in severe
temperatures and I fried my lungs from the cold. Hey, I grew up in
California. Even at Lake Tahoe it doesn't get all that cold. I
didn't realize, until too late, what that does to your wind. Not
that ignorance is an excuse with Darwin. So, time to once again
relearn coping mechanisms. I needed to counteract the daily stress
brought on by bad news of a serious nature ( at least as I perceived
it ). I needed to do something besides studying and planning,
something concrete.
*
I needed to physically
act every day. Something in the real world, not digital, to prepare.
Even the the most mundane task, like digging another hole ( it just
needs to be small, and done slowly ), or vacuum sealing something for
that hole, or going to the thrift store for stockpile items. Even
getting another bag or three of sugar and finding a ghetto
engineering way of packing it, such as re-purposing a plastic empty
coffee can.
*
There are plenty of
prepper chores to be done that cost nothing, such as reorganizing the
basement to make more room ( at the same time making it look cleaner
and more organized to please The Boss ). I can repackage items so
that they can be more quickly loaded into the NOL's vehicle to bug
out to the B-POD. For a half week now I've been doing something
every day having to do with prepping. I never worried before about
DAILY, and this isn't anything I'll regret not doing, per se, but
just something to get me out of my head by doing with my hands.
*
As a result, because
I'm DOING instead of WORRYING, my stress level has come down to a
more reasonable level. Before, I'd always been content that I was
already ready enough, for whatever. Now, I suppose I have to have a
version of rosary beads, something to keep my hands busy. Not to say
I can eliminate all the extra stress. I can feel one of the larger
disturbances in The Force here. But before I could feel the stress
building up. At least now the pressure is reduced. Dammit! It was
so much more enjoyable when it was theoretical.
( .Y. )
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*
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*
note: JM, many thanks for the super extra generous PayPal donation. I'm calling it a December donation, as I already added up Novembers, in ink. Plus, it is then a Christmas gift for my extra special hair.
*
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