Displacement behaviour: when suddenly you feel the need to shift a negative emotion or stressor to doing something else. Right now, that means sorting tax papers instead of finishing a class handout or sending out a query letter. (During Finals Week, my displacement behaviour was cleaning the bathrooms. My apartment was REALLY CLEAN after Finals Week.)
One rationalisation I have at the moment is that I am correcting for last year’s “planning fallacy” — organising and tracking down information and figuring out the electronic filing of my federal and state taxes took me longer than I had anticipated. (Folks with ADHD are terrible about planning fallacies, because of the weird fluidity of perceived time.)
Ooh, I just found some neat links on new research into the causes and coping strategies for procrastination … * STOP!
That’s just a rationalisation. Set aside those tax papers for this weekend, and get back to the correspondence. Damn. And, *sigh*.
Meanwhile, here are some of my mottos that you may like:
Pile by file**.
* Go to the Wikipedia page on Procrastination; they’re at the bottom. Sorry; I can’t be an accomplice to all of us wasting too much time…
** Which of course, later turns into File by Pile. But if your piles are already rough-sorted, then they don’t need much more than sifting out unnecessary junk (credit card offers and candy wrappers and expired sticky-notes), and maybe some date-sorting.
I prefer the OHIO method for when I get the mail: Only Handle It Once. From the moment it goes from the mailbox to my hand, I don’t dare set it down until I have binned the junk, set the catalogs and magazines in the appropriate reading zone (e.g. the bathroom), and push-pinned the bills to my bulletin board with the due dates highlighted. Otherwise, if I put the stuff down, it gets lost and forgotten in the dèbris of my desk!
(not suitable for an embroidery sampler)
1 Pair of shoes that fell apart, plus
2 belts that did as well.
3 Pairs of sad slacks with stains.
4 Part-time jobs I’ve worked this year, for
5 people whom I’m supporting.
6 Pairs of raggedy undies and
7 pairs of holey socks I tossed in the trash.
8 Hundred is a great credit score,
9 hundred is a mortgage payment,
10 days since I’ve applied for a mortgage in just my name, and
11 months I’ve paid the mortgage on my own.
12 Kitchen cabinets & drawers that are falling apart, plus
13 year old stained carpeting and gouged vinyl need replacing.
14 Days after applying, the letter will follow the phone call that said Grandma doesn’t make enough money to get her mortgage.
My son and I recently hauled a long dresser+mirror up two flights of stairs, and I cleaned up the master bedroom in preparation for the return of the new baby & parents from the hospital. The downside of course is that after a day of labor, I must spend a couple-three days recuperating. (In other words, I used up all my “spoons”, down to the last demitasse.)
I’m also on Day 2 of one of those low-grade-three-day migraines. Right now it’s manifesting as misreads, which when I catch myself is kind of entertaining:
In light of all that, I thought I’d share some interesting reads/cool finds on the Web recently:
My sleep-deprived daughter would be envious of ant queens, who spend nine hours a day sleeping, while the workers must squeeze in micro-naps.
From the world of delightful architecture, an adult tree[less] house shaped like a bee skep, made of recycled lumber (wheelie adaptation not included).
The CitizenM hotels have the most amazing showers, which look like Star Trek transporter pads. To start the shower, you simply shut the door. I don’t know if they’re large enough for a wheelchair transfer to a shower seat, but with the zero-clearance there’s a chance of it (maybe Dave knows). Want! (Or at least the trés geek LED shower head that changes from blue to red when your water’s hot.)
Reimer Reason posted It’s a Family Reunion! for the most recent Disability Blog Carnival.
In further hexapod news: while I was distracted by our little geekling, Bug Girl has been faithfully covering Pollinator Week, including important information about CHOCOLATE. For more funs, Cheshire has teh latest Circus of the Spineless up. And of course, what would a list of fun be without a LOLcat?
Summer sucks. I hate the heat, the humidity, the sizzling sun boring into my head, unpeeling my limbs from each other, the restless nights spent searching futilely for a cool spot on the sheets and being sleepless for the lack of the comforting weight of blankets, the lack of appetite, the omnipresent glare, the complete lack of energy … it’s depressing, and won’t get better until fall weather arrives in late September. I don’t even have the respite of an alpine vacation to look forward to.
Raynaud’s is weird; my toes and thumbs can still go numb, even when I’m hot. WTF?!
Plus, now I have a head cold, the whole sniffly-scratchy throat-more aches-feel crappy routine.
“How can you have a cold?” asked my coworker yesterday, “It’s summer!”
“Back in the 20th century, they discovered that cold are caused by viruses, not by cold weather,” I sniffed. (OMG, now I’m officially Old, I’m saying, “back in the 20th century”.)
“I’m just kidding,” he grinned.
Oh, right. I realised that about the time he said it. Nothing new there, either. (File under: Aspergers, misses jokes.)
My sunglasses broke. Things around the house keep breaking (kitchen drawer track, drawer pull, cabinet front, bathroom ceiling paint, tub’s chipped, towel rack needs to be masticked back on, kitchen needs painting, bedroom needs painting, kitchen flooring’s gouged, back patio’s settling, double pane-windows are fogged up, ad nauseam). And the thermostat is broken and won’t set the air conditioning below 83°F.
The cats keep fighting. My son can’t find a job. And my daughter is nine months pregnant and belly-aching, as is every pregnant woman’s right. But the house is hot and none of us are sleeping well.
But, a good distraction is the latest Circus of the Spineless, over at Bug Girl’s blog!
“You sound sick,” stated my daughter’s fiancé, M.
“I can’t be sick,” I mumbled in protest, and honked into a tissue.
“Redunculus; you’re sniffling.”
“I can’t be sick; it was Mr W’s day to be sick,” I explained. “He got first dibs on being out sick today … If all the classroom staff members who were sick stayed home, there wouldn’t be anyone left!”
I’m sure the students wouldn’t have minded having some of their classes cancelled. But no, we slogged through the day, hour after dreary, mind-numbing, O-PLZ-STFU hour. It was, I decided, a veritable hotbed of apathy. The lead teacher was battling a sinus infection, and I was suffering from what felt like temporal phase-shifts. And my aches ached. My ears were ringing and making sharp pains and I was having dizzy spots and nausea. I was cold and then would have a sneezing fit and then be hot, and would have some odd spastic tic and then be cold again. They cannot invent a vaccine for this shit any day too soon.
It’s worse when you’re feeling crappy and working 60 hours a week. But it seems like every few days I discover yet another person who’s working multiple jobs, the latest being a cashier with two jobs and Lupus. (Maybe what the economy really needs is for everyone to take a week off just to get some rest already. All in favor say, “Aye!”)
And then there’s the strange stress nightmares I get before a semester starts, going through an interminable dream about teaching 3rd grade but starting the same day the students do, and having an unworkable U-shaped classroom without a chalkboard or whiteboard, and the women’s bathroom stalls all cost 75 cents in quarters to use, and …
If you, too, are ready for a diversion, our favorite engineers (previous post) have a new video up on Advanced Cat Yodeling. M just about ROTFL, as he has been Yodeling with his cats for a long time, and favors the Machine Gun Kiss™ approach.