The Toolbox

When we moved here last year, we left behind the lifetime of tools we had accumulated. There isn't enough space to store them all here and with the exception of some duct tape, a wrench, one or two screwdrivers and a hammer, the toolbox junk drawer is primarily empty. A lot of my kitchen tools are still packed away, too. Although the kitchen is large enough, the appliances aren't trustworthy. After one or two forays into baking, I gave up trying. That oven is a real disappointment that I plan to remedy in about a month. The toolbox will be retrieved from Rachel's house, too, and we'll finally be reunited with those things we couldn't live in a home without. In the meantime, we're essentially living here tool-less.

Lately, as my saga with acute anxiety continues, I've been noticing another type of toolbox that's missing something: my bag of tricks I use for putting up with life's curveballs is fairly empty. I keep reaching inside to find a hidden coping mechanism I was sure I had safely tucked away and come up empty handed. I did get some rest this weekend, and even slept through my spinning circle on Saturday. Who says we can't find salvation (or a long, sedated sleep) with a little xanax chemistry?

Hoping to find an end to my current predicament, I had my first appointment with a therapist today and the toolbox is just as empty as when I first got there. I thought for certain that at least my bullshit barometer was working, but it would appear that's broken, too. After about an hour of talking, the therapist told me his schedule is full to overflowing and he would have to refer me to someone else. What? What was the point of this appointment? Sheesh. That's two meetings I've had that had the same sort of outcome in one week. To top it all off, his office was in a not so great area of town, down a flight of steps and into a deserted basement space where the door to enter his office suite was locked. Damn. Not exactly the best spot to send me in my paranoid state of mind, was it?

The entire appointment was an hour of completely useless mental gymnastics.

But I'm not giving up. Tomorrow, I'll call the number this guy gave me and I'll pursue a decent therapist. The xanax is handy, but 1/4 of the prescribed dose knocks me out for 8 hours straight, so I can't use it during the times I feel the most anxiety, like (hello?), when I'm awake. Apparently, when it comes to benzos, I'm a cheap date. Instead, I've been using my other drug.

Yarn, to be exact.

I'm knitting as fast as I can. My goal is to make it a full day without feeling my heart race once. It's getting better.

In the photo: 25% of a poncho I'm knitting for the three of us, including me, myself and I. The pattern, Erika, from Rowan Classic Winter Solstice, is knit in Rowan Alpaca Cotton. The pattern is fast, and the fiber is soft and warm. Who cares that the yarn is so dark it's hard to see the cables? I know I don't.