Give me 3-7 minutes of your time.
DISCLAIMER: The following text may be considered offensive or triggering to large dogs, the person who inspired this post (Thank you. You're welcome. I'm sorry), and people who suffer from any combination of anxiety and depression.
Today, someone told me my last post was too long. I thought, at least someone is reading it, followed immediately by, what if it is too long? What if it's all just wrong? What if I've already screwed this up?
Suddenly, I felt very large and encumbering. Like everything I own takes too much space. Like everything I create takes too much space. Like I am too much space.
So now I'm in a ball on a tiny yellow couch, still in the middle of a shipping container that's settled on top of a rice paddy. When you're struggling with various forms of anxiety and depressive disorders along with a hefty dose of Impostor Syndrome, finding yourself in a ball in the middle of nowhere is actually a relatively common scenario. The shipping container on the rice paddy...well, that's just a perk.
I find that when I'm feeling the largest, it's best to ball in the smallest chair possible. I think this explains why large dogs always pick the smallest beds. They're trying to fit in and be less space.
And then I thought about how you're reading this, and how much time you might be willing to dedicate to my musings. I decided you're probably reading it on your phone, from the toilet. If you're home, I figure I've got anywhere from 3-7 minutes to catch your attention, and that's assuming you're not doing anything weird in there. If you're not home, I figure you're in that one office bathroom that nobody knows about, because it's the only place to get some damn privacy. I've got at least 10 minutes of your attention in there.
After I thought of all that, I thought of the people who regularly excuse themselves in the middle of a meeting in order to have a clandestine text meeting with someone else. That secret bathroom meeting is usually over some sort of sketchy business, so it makes sense that they’d take care of business right after someone else did their business. And then once they finish doing whatever you were doing in there, they walk back into the meeting 25 minutes later and blame their disappearance on GERD.
That last paragraph, about GERD and sketchy business, that's why my posts are so long. It's because this is the way my mind works. When I stop engaging in conversations, it's because I got distracted and am instead thinking about how I can get Beyoncé wind, everyday, all the time. I didn't necessarily get bored with your conversation (though that definitely happens regularly), but you did bring up "Beyoncé" so obviously her interminable wind is the clear tangent.
It took me exactly 1 minute and 11 seconds to read what I'd written so far. I'm well within the bathroom break time requirement. At least now I have goals. Everyone needs some goals to keep themselves from going full ball on a rice paddy in Malaysia. This is what progress looks like, folks.