I recently read (and by read I mean listened to because audiobooks are my mister (which is the word I’m using to refer to a male mistress, because as much as I would like to use the word consort* I just can’t imagine anyone would think it was as cool as I think it is)) a book called Dark Places.
The book itself is seriously fucked up, no kidding. It’s about a woman named Libby Day who is one of two survivors of a farmhouse massacre – the other survivor being her brother and the murderer… or so we think. Dun dun dunnnnnnnn…
I mostly enjoyed the book. At one point, Libby says that she is terrible at the minutiae of life – she can get herself up and out of bed every day but she never has ice because filling the ice cube trays is too much work.
Dear fictional severely psychologically traumatized Libby,
It’s completely and totally true. While I am in fact holding down a full time job, blogging, taking care of two dogs, playing derby, and any number of other tasks that sound daunting when you lay them out step by step, there are a plethora of truly necessary things that I just don’t do. Because they’re too overwhelming. Really – not because I’m lazy, or because I don’t like to do them – because I quite literally become overwhelmed at the outset and either can’t start or can’t finish them.
A few examples.
- I do not vacuum. I have a vacuum, I don’t loathe vacuuming if and when I ever get around to it, but for whatever reason the idea of vacuuming at any given time defeats me.
- I do not go to the dentist. I do eventually get around to going to the doctor, because I’m secretly afraid that I’ll be one of those dead-at-30-if-only-she’d-caught-it-earlier stories if I don’t, but I do not go to the dentist. Period. The last time I went was 2 years ago to fix a broken tooth – which had been broken for two years at that point. I don’t know why, I’m not scared of the dentist. Making an appointment is just too hard.
- I shower, but only because I have to. The idea of showering sort of crushes me. If I wasn’t surrounded by other people who sort of expect it, I would go back to the weekly baths of yore.
- I don’t call in people to fix things. My chimney needs to be swept. My ducts likely need to be cleaned. My damn furnace filter stayed unchanged for two years until my dad came and did it for me last month. I could pay people to do these things for me, but the idea of calling them and scheduling it is smothering.
These aren’t the only examples (frighteningly), but I am not nearly as incapable as this makes me sound. I mean, when the urge to cut my hair strikes me I’m quite adept calling around and finding the place that can fit me in soonest then rearranging meetings to make it happen, so it’s not like I’m a can’t-do person.
I’m just a can-do person who is a little bit broken.