Friday, November 7, 2008

Daily Freak-Out

I'm going to start a new blog. It'll be called "Freakworthy" and everything on it will come directly from my life. Except when I'm too busy with a freak-out session to sit down at the computer. In those instances I'll have guest writers, but only when they can top my personal freak-outs. They'll have to pitch me their posts and then I'll judge them thusly:

"You're FREAKING ME OUT, MAN."

Or,

"What the heck are you freaking out about?"

Guess which writers will get to guest post? If you'd like to apply, send me an email. My email box is just full of garbage from other Realtors (yes, I'm selling houses again, dang it all anyway) and pesky reminders from the FlyLady (I do love her, but I'm a little overwhelmed by the volume) and the occasional doctor appointment tickler.

(The "doctor appointment tickler." Now THAT could be a good children's book. Or maybe a horror novel. OR a hip chick lit novella where the heroine falls for a gynecologist and places all her friends in full freak-out mode.)

(You knew I was coming back around to the freak-out, didn't you?)

Some folks you know just seem to thrive on drama. I might know some of them too. But me... I like my life uncomplicated. I like to wake up in the morning to a hot cup of really, really good French Roast freshly ground organic coffee with half-n-half. If it's bad coffee I won't drink it. But I don't freak out about it. I just have some tea.

Similarly, I like to sit in the corner and read. This was the main impetus behind my decade-long career in editing. Ah, the sitting. Ah, the reading. (There may have been the occasional conversation, but it was mostly the sitting and reading, red pencil in hand, power and glory.) If I have something good to read, I'll wait until I have at least a metaphorical quiet corner in which to read it. If I am so unfortunate as to be required to read among noise, I am equally fortunate to have been given a very good (you might say freakishly good) ability to tune everything else out. So... no corner, no quiet, no freak-out.

(I often ponder the irony of a girl who craves quiet like fresh air and chocolate... deciding to have a lot of children. I think it's a whole Alanis Morrisette song already.)

There is a pattern here. I don't think I'm being vain when I say I don't freak out easily. AND YET. My life is so full of the freakworthy. The unexpected traffic stop over a burned-out headlight can give me a full-on panic attack. Oh, yes, it can.

Last week I was stopped in just such a manner by a young gun, I mean cop, I mean OFFICER, who openly laughed at my freak-out. First he noticed my quaking hands as I searched out my license. Then he commented on my quivering voice as I nonstoptalkedgibberish. The nice young man told me it was all going to be okay and backed away slowly from the car as though he might have to call in backup to perform CPR.

I think I actually told him I'd have my husband "Fonzie" the headlight. What. On. Earth.

The panic attack wouldn't stop for the rest of the evening. I couldn't calm down to salvage a much-needed night out. So what's up with that? The palpitations, the sweating, the eyes rolling back in the head (okay, not really that last part)... it becomes clear to me that while I rarely exhibit drama-queen tendencies under truly stressful life situations, the mundane unexpected can make me a little whirling dervish of freakiness.

Daughter with two broken arms is burned by novice doctor? I'm cool as a cucumber. Husband working triple-time? All clear here. Three real estate deals threaten a domino effect that'll lose four people's dreams and a half year of income for me? Never let them see you sweat. However, walk down Pier 39 with your skirt caught in your underwear (oh, yes, I did)... obsess about it for days. Make your husband tell you your undies were cute that day. Make your friends tell you your cellulite isn't too noticeable in the San Fransisco fog. Make your daughters triple-check your hem for months. In short, FREAK OUT.

Are you tired of the word "freak" yet?

So...
Until I get around to starting this hot new blog, which is sure to grab the attention of all late-night cable show producers, leave me some freak-out comments.

Come on, impress me with your freak-worthy stories!

4 comments:

HonuGirl said...

I'm here... breathe!! You are not alone. . . others (like me) have SERIOUS freak outs too! No. Really. Mine are usually at the grocery store or gym ... or coffee shop or work, or WAIT I see a pattern forming there simply are no boundaries for a freaky moment.

I love ya! Keep on freakin'

Barb said...

Oh. I just realized I'm already writing YOUR new blog.

But I didn't MEAN to write it--it's just my life is one big enormous, soul and calm sucking CRISIS. Is that a problem?

My word verification word is "mission." No, it really is. A real word. That's gotta be a sign of something, right?

Katie said...

As my freakishness is ever present I will be a daily contributor, I'm sure!

Let's get this freakin' show on the road!

Alexis said...

Most of my freak-outs come from trying to get my tweens to DO THEIR STINKIN CHORES! Oh, my, just mentioning it causes a freak out. I HATE repeating myself and giving directions over and over (see, I just repeated myself). It makes my blood pressure fly higher than a kite, and my eyes bulge out. They're starting to bulge now, so I'm going to take a dose of Eptecol and call it a night. (Actually, "EPTECOL" was just my word verification - but it sounded pharmaceutical to me!)