Happy talk, keep talkin' happy talk...

Today, albeit it Sunday, marks a stopping off point during an extremely tumultuous period in Jane's life. In the past three weeks, I feel like I've had an inordinant amount of responsibility not placed, mind you, but bitchslapped against my face at work. In addition, I got to spend three hours at an orthopedic surgeon's office only for him to rush in, say, well, you've got a frozen shoulder, you wanna prescription for Vicodin? Imagine the proverbial angel and devil sitting on my shoulders battling it out. Devil "Jane, come on, Vicodin? Man, that's some good shit. Go for it." Angel "Now, Jane, you know drugs are bad for you. I mean, look what it's done to your Lindsay Lohan and Jerry Lewis. Don't be a wimp, suck it up and ask for the Tylenol with codeine instead. And by the way, you wouldn't be in this situation if you hadn't stopped doing baton twirling, you know." Needless to say, the Angel wins out because the Devil walks off, throwing up his hands, and proceeds directly to some bar in the fiery bowels of Hades where he can forget about his latest encounter with angelic personna of me.

On to the subject at hand -- what I'm referring to is Happy Talk. No, it's not some melancholy reference to South Pacific, but that psychological philosophy wherein someone (usually with a copay) tells you that you can talk your way to happiness. Sometimes it's referred to as meditation and sometimes it's referred to as talking to oneself. You know -- getting the id in line with the ego and super ego and super duper ego. Well, I've been trying to practice this approach because I've been in a deep dark bluish grayish purpleish funk lately. Could be that God is trying to utter last rites to my ovaries and it might just be that I'm, well, depressed. Or both. So, here I am today, beautiful skies, driving to downtown Norfolk to an outdoor art festival. The air is blowing through my hair as I enjoy one more great ride in my convertible at a time when I should be wondering if my winter coat needs to really be cleaned this year. About 10 minutes out of Norfolk, I start the meditative happy talking. It goes something like this in my head.

Jane Head (talking to manager): Bossperson, I've been under a lot of stress and it's impacting not just my interaction with you but my whole life.

(Wait...didn't she say this was happy talk? This sounds like work.)

Jane Head: Well, bossperson, I'm having difficulty with your communication style and expectations. I never know what you want because I'm not clear on your direction. Are you sure you know what your wanting when you ask me sometimes?

(ok, not sure why Jane is going down this path. Didn't she say she was meditating? Blue skies? Sunshine? Man, she's dull. Wait, why is Jane referring to herself in third person. She really needs help. Maybe blogging will do it.)

Jane Head: I can't deal with this anymore, bossperson. Maybe a few months ago, I could, but now things are starting to multiply. Work, health, bp 175/120. I'm not going to die at EDS.

Jane Head (tears starting to assemble at forefront of lower lids): I'm supposed to be thinking HAPPY THOUGHTS! STOP THIS!!! THINK OF THE ART FESTIVAL! ANYTHING!

I guess you get the picture. I think what's going on here is that I'm afraid of failing for one thing. I'm lucky in the sense that I tend to do a halfway decent job at most things I try; it's just that now it seems to get harder and harder to accept that I'm not this uber project manager that at any given moment knows everything about everything. Happy talk would suggest that I can 1) give myself permission to get a B instead of an A in the school of life, 2) surround myself with stuff other than work (not food!) and 3) not overdo it on the Tylenol #3.

They say half the remedy of a problem is to admit you have one in the first place. I'm writing this. I have a problem. I need to think, act AND talk happy again. I need to quit obsessing about things I can't control. I need to remember all the things I used to like (my piano, my friends, men, understanding that this last one is a veritable Mt. Himalaya of a challenge) and try to forgive me and others a bit more.

Here goes.