Category Archives: Anxiety

February 8, 2012

Deking you out

By jaykaygee

I watch how other people walk.

The baby step shuffle of a high healed woman on her cell phone or the husky gentlemen who attempts to extend a bit further with every lurching step.  The slight strut of the slick haired banker, left hand in his front pocket, right hand at his side, desperately clutching his mobile device that is still a BlackBerry.  There is the waddle of the overweight admin assistant, security pass hanging from her neck replacing the old CNE feathered roach clip that used to hang from her hair.  The slow cluster stroll of the fund accountant East Asians chatting in halted English, smiles so white against the darkness of their skin.  The buzzing of the purposeful laptop and multiple pen holding middle manager with thin lips and a too stiff popped collar hustling down to get a quick latte.  The half jog/half walk of the tie and short sleeved dress shirt  balding mailroom worker, passing the same Starbucks, going directly to Tim Hortons for his double double on his assigned 15 minute break.

I notice all these walkers because invariably I am stuck behind them. Bobbing and weaving to satisfy my own impatient gait.  The exodus to the food courts and shops down narrow escalators is one thing I do not enjoy about my workplace.  I appreciate the convenience of the options; love/hate the bulk candy and nut store whose owner I am surely helping to early retirement and it does prove handy when picking up random gifts for the various members of my friends and family for birthdays or holidays.  But mostly I detest the herd-like mentality of all these people, slugging beneath the earth like a cadre of molemmings, to satisfy our wants and needs in various bloated forms of exorbitance.  It reeks of consumerism, which I blindly fall victim to while complaining about it here.  I feel dirty and shallow.  And chipper, so there’s that.

I strive to be different, but the striving is all in my head alongside the how I will share my lottery winning moments and the dreams of having more than one bathroom.  I have written about the magical motivation button before, the button I keep searching for on my bulbous noggin that I will press and all energies will turn to finding a route to professional success that matches my current personal success.  I am pretty sure this button does not exist and the affecting change resolution I have engaged the past two New Year’s was also not the fantasy switch.  Ok, I did start writing again, both blogging and about 15 pages into a novel I think might sell, so I will admit that in itself has potentially opened doors that were dormant, dusty and closed before.

So maybe I am just a late bloomer.  I went back to college when I was 24 because I did not find my way until then.  I found my groove as a communicator after 10 years in the work force because I was not exposed to the right people until then.  Maybe the next portion of my life will be more attacking and less reactive and somewhere in the next five years I will hit the stride of success I know is buried beneath the duvet of anxiety, self doubt and occasional full blown depression.

I hope so.  42 years old.  Tick fucking tock.

3 Comments | posted in Anxiety

December 14, 2011

Nothing to see here

By jaykaygee

Two whole weeks since my last post, which a chosen few were quick to point out this morning.  Let’s see, what have a packed in to the last two weeks….a couple of big nights out, lots of down time with my two favourite males (sorry dad) and preparing for a holiday which I both dread and relish at the exact same time.

There was mild dancing, lots of drink tickets, naked women, a Jersey Shore bar, a long, snow filled drive up north, massive heartburn, a backgammon throttling by my wife, the unrealized secret promise of red wine soaked sex, some solid laughs, some solid five boy dance party moves, some sulking and griping (me) and lots of screen time.

But best of all was last Sunday, trudging up the street to the church where the Scouts sell trees and once again finding the perfect tree and the three of us, with Tasman following with the cut branches in tow, walking our tree home down Yonge Street. We decorated it with carols in the background, lit a fire and felt the season envelope us all like a big hug from Santa.  The boys even stopped playing Wii to help.

I repeat, they stopped playing Wii to help.

So with most of our shopping done, thanks to online browsing and the vigilant research and general love of purchasing of my lovely wife, I can now spend the next 11 days wondering what to get for Steph.  With some significant purchases designated to each other, her coffee table, me ski equipment, we have overspent our limits but still want the boys to witness us opening up gifts on Christmas morning.  So I will cluck about, searching for stocking (I always want to write it stalking – inner sociopath anyone? Anyone?  Beuller?) stuffers to make her smile politely, warmly or furtively, any one of the above.

I have some traditional items to fill the massive sock, but something must be sought out to make this season, our 12th together as husband and wife, a little more special than the others.

While managing expectations is part of my job as a public relations practitioner, doing it here is obviously something I have overlooked.  Unless my lack of posting will cause her not to check for the next 11 days.

 

 

***

Tim feels the anxiety in his chest when the end of the work day approaches.  It’s a good kind of anticipatory anxiety that means he is getting closer to feeling the warm, skinny arms draped along his neck as Tatum jumps into his grasp.  There were no further e-mails from his recent crush, so all current focus was the fake ruffling of paperwork to signify to his co-workers his day was quickly coming to an end.  The fact he easily lost himself both in his work and his upcoming departure was surprising considering how eager he was to engage with Sarah earlier this morning.  Was it seeping guilt?  Sneaky indifference?  Either way his focus was now on catching the subway and the one long bus that brought him from his place of employment to his 2-bedroom semi-detached home on Douglas Avenue in the north end of the city.

Hw lng untl yr hme? 

The cold text.  Where vowels once stood, rounded and warm, now stands drunk consonants, broken and insulting.  Their unlimited text plan – 60 bucks a month thank you very much – precludes any cost savings excuse from text speak.  It was pure laziness that Tim expected from Tatum in about 10 years, not from his wife Laura.  She also knew as a professional communicator (his self imposed moniker) that any shortening of sentences or use of emoticons in chat or text was like poking him in the eye with exclamation point.

He returned the text: Barring any traffic disasters I will be home in exactly nine minutes.  Can’t wait to see my favourite girl!

Spelling out the nine, naturally.   Leaving Laura to question who he was talking about, also naturally.

1 Comment | posted in Anxiety, Hudson, Steph, Tasman