Trapped In My Mind

So I complain about being a "grown up" far more than I praise it(I used quotations because I like to think I'm only an adult in the literal sense).  One major perk of being a grown up is that by now, you have had enough one-on-one experiences with your damn self to differentiate between when you are legitimately going through something worth examining further and when you're just going through some cyclical shit that you always go through at particular times of year or in particular types of situations. 

That self-knowledge has been saving my ass lately.  I'll get on this kick and obsess over something for days on end and wonder what the hell is wrong with me.  Then I remember, oh, shit. Its *insert month here*.  I always get like this around *insert event/holiday here*.  Then I'm back to normal.

I'm usually knocked off my axis the most during the following times: June/July, August/Sept and December/January.   That five month stretch between February and June is pretty anti-climatic. I'm on mental and emotional autopilot.  Alls my feels and thoughts are in hibernation during this time.

Those other blips are the polar opposite.  I'm a clusterfuck of emotions, anxiety attacks and nervous wrecks.  Of course, I am exaggerating but you get the point.  

December/January is the fucking worst.  The end and beginning.  Its holiday time and I'm alone in the greatest city in the world.  Any other time of year, that is the illest factor in my very existence.  I love being uncommitted in New York. I can't really put it into understandable words but understand that its nirvana for me.   But then holiday and birthday time roll up on me and I'm done.  I'm either a cry baby or a scrooge. Or I'm a fake Plymouth-Rock-landed-on-me atheist-sounding poo-poo head.  Whatever I can do to shit on the holiday season, I do. Dispicable me. 

Do not even speaketh of my born day.  I.Don't.Want.To.Do.Shit.Wit.Cho.Ass.
Horrible, I know. I KNOW. But this is exactly what I'm talking about.  I've experienced myself enough to know that, basically, I'm on one.  No need to worry.  A few weeks of wallowing about and I'll be good. That simple.

Funny enough, its this time of year plus June/July that I psyche myself into thinking I want a boyfriend.  Here is where I should probably note that I happen to be the biggest commitment phobe I've ever encountered in my life.  But during these two times of year, I pretend that I've been miraculously cured of my lethal illness.  I don't know.  Something about being cold and bored or hot and bothered?... I haven't the slightest.

Last are my August/September episodes aka What Am I Doing?  I self-assess my life.  I'm mortified by what I see. I reconfigure my life plan. I obsess over the unlikliness of it actually happening.  I consider a life as a gypsy, political activist, professional criminal or housewife.  I sulk and then its over.

I hate that one.

Again, the glory is in knowing me. If I didn't know the girl that lives in this body, I'd be on drugs, legal and otherwise.