Cupboards full of vintage fabric, paints, clippings, journals, cards, beads and innumerable scraps of treasure represented to me the possibility of creative expression held in suspended animation, sure to spring to life one day soon.
I realized this evening that, no matter what fantasy I project on them, these items are in the final telling simply reflections of my self-distraction; manifestations of my a.d.d.
That they are pretty, interesting, tasteful, unusual and other assorted positive adjectives does not redeem them any more than acknowledging their true origin condemns them. I have these things not because anything will ever come from them i.e. be made of them or with them, but because accumulating objects related to a myriad of ideas is a way of discharging the impulsivity and distraction which is my very real world.
It is very late in the party indeed for me to be realizing who I am, and the impact of the deficiencies in my ability to control myself and, in fact, even see myself in a realistic perspective from another's point of view. This week I have scared myself twice realizing the gravity of things said impulsively at work. If I were to lose my client for frivolously, jokingly saying "you bitch" to a staff stylist, it could be the end of my livelihood. I wasn't thinking correctly. Impulsively, oddly, yes. Consequentially, no.
Taking medications is probably out of the question, because of the impact it would have on my insurance, and the heart related side effects. I have been chastened this week, though, and I just have to hope that I will escape to have a do over. I'm prepared to apologize and confess and admit alll my faults if need be. I do humbly admit them to myself tonight. I'm a jealous person. I took for granted a relationship I shouldn't have. I wasn't treating my client with the respect they deserved. I take that very seriously, and pray pray pray there is a God who is listening and will have some mercy on me. I love my work. I don't want to lose it. If it means being less myself, and working more, I will gladly make that compromise.
Now that the cupboards are simply full of distractions, what happens to them? I don't quite know. It may make the process of separating from them a little easier. I think I have to keep repeating it to myself to make it sink in. My cupboards are full of things I will never use, to make things I will never create, because my mind is overstimulated by too much unfiltered information. Wait, what?
