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In-tension

February 19, 2007 at 9:27 AM

I can't. I try and try, but I can't. I try so hard I'm up all night, mental gears spinning, heart in turmoil, obsessing until the wee hours of the morning, trying to figure out a way to relax more. They tell me I need to relax, but I can't.

Truth is, I can't because I don't want to. No, I want to run a thousand miles and hike up to the top of a large mountain and scream wildly into the canyons. I want to throw rocks and break glass, and tear out my hair, and kick the doors down; I want to destroy. I want to pick a fight. I want to rage against all that should have been and wasn't, rage against the need for control--against being controlled--against being out of control.

When there is no peace inside, I wish to fling lawless streaks of red paint on canvas with my bare hands. When there is joy, make it yellow and add an exclamation point. Either way, I feel it loudly, intensely, like resounding gongs.

Outwardly, I am governed by the laws of perfectionism, which in turn enslave my will and drive my compulsions. They repress something inside that would rather be freely expressed, and the tension that this creates is engulfing at times.

I would not like to be tense. I cannot help but be intense. God help me find a way to play the latter and not the former.

Do you think some Ritalin might help?
Go see Hobo Jim. He's the nearest thing you got there to a gypsy. Sit down and talk awhile. Take your shoes off. Tell him the whole story.
I often feel the same way. Let me know when you find the answer. There are legal medications for that, but sometimes, I'd rather throw rocks, too. A good workout helps.
Greetings,
I suggest you read a beautiful and though provoking book called `Start from where you are.` Repeatedly.
If that fails you can always chuck it at somebody.
Cheers,
Buri
I play Irish session music in pubs, and I find my bow arm is much more fluid and relaxed after a little whiskey.
Trying to relax is like trying to not think to much. Once you master the later, you can master the former.
Suffering no shortage of sunlight, I won't presume to give advice from such smaller latitudes.

But I remember my homestate. You rock, Emily! even if you don't dig Prince enough. You go, girl!

Don't you miss latitude 59? :)