Google Reader, Anxiety and YOU!

As you loyal readers know, I used to be pretty awesome at updating my Pinterest all the time. I even had a weekly feature for a while.

See, the process has always been read the blogs, star the posts I like the most, pin the pictures from said entries. I like to use Pinterest as my own personal blog imagery file cabinet. Then I'd share it with you lovely people.

You might have also noticed that that has slowed from a pleasant skip to somewhat of a slog as of late. 

Here's why:

Google Reader stressed me out.

Not only because it's shutting down and I need to find an alternative (which seems upsettingly unnecessary in my first-world-problems life,) but because it triggers a strange and unshakable... something in me.

Oh- right. The word is anxiety. 

But it's not google readers fault; It's reeeeeeally more of a me problem. 

Let me explain:

There is nothing quite the same kind of stressful as when you get busy for, say, a week, and then cheerfully sit down with a mug of hot chocolate or tea (I don't do coffee), only to be met with the glaring 1000+ count at the top of your list. 

 You think, how can this be? It's been a week? Has that much happened? 

HOW WILL I READ ALL THIS???

Now, keep in mind I am not afraid of long reading material; one of my favorite books is Anna Karenina. But there is something about having a lot of blog entries to catch up on that makes my blood go cold.

It's like that feeling when you realize you were supposed to email someone or text them back, like, yesterday and TOTALLY forgot. In your head, you know that the blogger in question won't take it personally that you got behind; in fact, they probably have no idea who you are. Almost definitely, actually. But this breach in loyalty is something that I cannot abide in myself. 

So, I just shut my computer and franticly hum as I walk away until my unread pile reaches a digital stack up to the ceiling. 

Oh, I know it's crazy; don't worry about that.

Moving... again and the Shove-Shame Spiral

SO I'm leaving New York.

I know.
 But I finally woke up from my post-grad haze, looked around and said "what the hell am I doing here?!?" So I applied to a bunch of jobs all over. Then, found out one of my best friends from college needed a roommate. A month later, here I am with a job, friends, cheese curds and apartment all waiting for me in Milwaukee. Im pleased with how things have unfolded.

 Now, all this is good an well. But it leaves the horrible truth that I must, once again, pack my belongings and drag it all to the glorious cheese state. This means packing.

this is not what me packing looks like.

I am no moving novice; this is not my first rodeo. I'm a California girl who went to school in the midwest, which necessitated packing and moving my crap across the country twice a year. Still, after four years and countless hours of sorting and folding and stuffing and cursing*, I am still not very good at packing.I truly and deeply loath packing. More accurately, I hate the last 10% of packing when you keep finding crap you couldn't fit in that last suitcase or box. I call this roller coaster of emotion the shove-shame spiral. It starts about two thirds of the way though the packing process.

 At this point, you've packed you're favorite things. There are no more sleigh bells, no more mittens; you're down to the stuff you honestly kind of forgot about. You tell yourself, great! A chance to cull your belongings and finally free yourself from consumerism! You can live that minimalist life you've always dreamed of! (Or thought about vaguely before shrugging and watching chopped instead). You can be that lady picking flowers! You can have a white couch! You can go to the farmers market! You can LIVE the anthropology dream!!! And then a dust bunny cheerily floats across your room.

This is when it hits you that you have to CLEAN after you pack. Thus begins the shove-shame spiral. Suddenly, you get itchy from the dust and you realize how long its been since you showered. Whats that smell? Good God: it's you. You catch a glimpse in the mirror. You're not glowing from exercise like you supposed; you're tired and haggard form working! Thats it. WORST DAY EVER.

After this you pout for about an hour, occasionally picking things up and playing with them, briefly forgetting your woe until you look around you and remember your cursed fate. A glimpse at the clock makes you realize how much time you've wasted. Defeated, you throw up your hands like you're mom told you to stand up straight. FINE, self; I'll keep packing.

 Then you put on "Into the Woods" or "Wizard of Oz" and start just shoving stuff into boxes or already-full suitcases. Before the first act is half way though, you're done and still feeling a little resentful.

 Then you remember about bacon and happily skip off.

"yaaaaay!!!! bacon!!!!"

 So that's my usual packing ritual. To be fair, this has always been done when I have literally 24 hours between my last final and my flight. But not this year. I'm going to outsmart the shove-shame spiral this year by giving myself a whole week to pack instead of the post-finals flurry I'm accustomed to. With luck, determination and a LOT of musicals, I will pack up my things and live to tell the tale.





 *(and one unfortunate time when the storage at school was all filled up. I thought my things would have to be abandoned like puppies in a box on the highway and i melted into a puddle of tears in the very center dorm hallway on top of my sad boxes at 2am. not my proudest moment.)