A many sleepless night...

So sorry it’s been so long since I’ve blogged (for those of you who are obsessed like me). As the holidays are approaching, and with Thanksgiving gone, we have been so busy in my household. I made the mistake of telling my boss at Elder Beerman that I could work a bit of hours and ended up working almost 35 last week. It was really intense, but I made some extra cash for Christmas which always helps. In other words, not much happened that anyone would care to hear about.

As many of you know, there are quite a few things that I have really passionate feelings or beliefs about. I hope that this blog will be an outlet for them. I have had so many wonderful ideas for blog topics such as an Ode to my Wonderful Husband, My thoughts on Politics, as well as Education. However, I just don’t seem to have enough time or energy to put into some of them. I promise that one day, perhaps over Christmas break, I will be fortunate to have enough time to write them all.

Today’s blog is about my insomnia or inability to fall asleep in any normal amount of time. It takes seven minutes for the average American to fall asleep, at least that’s what I’ve been told. Well it takes me an average of 77 minutes and includes some vicious tossing and turning and ups and downs and ins and outs and all kinds of bothersome stuff. I’ve decided to get back to journaling in hopes that it will help take some of the 85 million thoughts that go through my head when it hits the pillow. Most of the time they are so sporadic I can’t even follow them through. The rest of the time, I’m wallowing in self-pity or needlessly worrying about something that “could” happen. Now I’ve read Linda Dillow (Calm My Anxious Heart) and can identify a spell of anxiety when it hits me. Yet, even though I’ve clearly recognized it, there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it.

I mean, I spend time worrying about Jesse Carpenter (my beloved cousin’s boyfriend who also happened to make my wedding favors so he’s not just some guy to me) in Afghanistan and how bad she must be hurting. Sometimes, I let myself relive the pain of being so far away from Corey while in Morocco just to remember what she is going through. I could literally spend hours crying about it when I think of his danger and her heartache. Or I worry about my grandparents dying instantly and without warning. They are getting up there you know, and any day could be there last. I let myself become devastated in a matter of moments over something that hasn’t even happened or isn’t happening to me. Some would call it compassion; I think it’s something in my head that needs to get out. Worrying and being up half the night over these things that I cannot control will do no one any good.

Then there is my proposal, which I’m finally giving on Friday, yes this FRIDAY! NOVEMBER 30TH, and that just has me really freaked out. The fact that Corey asks me 5 times a day if I’m nervous is beside the point. The biggest fear of all keeps creeping up inside of me: FAILURE. What if I suck? What if they ask questions I can’t answer? And worst of all, what if I look stupid? Maybe that’s it. I’ve fought all these years to prove to myself, my peers, even my family that I am a smart cookie. That I can achieve my goals, even if they aren’t as black and white as others. That I can be successful doing what I love to do, even if it means not making six figures. That I can do geography, because it doesn’t require me to put myself in a box, behind a desk, or in one place. All of this, in my head, is riding on a 20 minute presentation that I have to give in a room full of people I know know well! and respect) in less than 4 days.

It is amazing to me how I can bottle most of my self-worth into one thing (for many women it becomes a body image issue for me it’s a brain issue): my intelligence.
Will my anxiety end on Friday when the presentation is over? What will it manifest in next? And most importantly what will “they” think of me? Who is “they” even? Who am I most worried about impressing? My advisor? My committee? My husband? My sister? My peers? My colleagues? Myself? My God? My Jesus?

Somewhere between my faith and my plans...