Impulsion

Due to a number of situations in my life, at the moment, I find myself thinking about certain impulses we have, why we have them and what to do when we are advised that following our impulses are the worst thing you can do.

Take, for example, quizzes and surveys online. Some people find them stupid and trite. And, while I find that they hardly represent my personality, or are the exercise of a grown adult, I find the idea of turning away the opportunity to answer a question irresistible. Whether it's a question of my favorite salad dressing, my first prom date, who was the first person I spoke to today to those stupid telesurveys from Quinnipiac College et al, I can't say no. I'll say, "Don't add me to your distribution list," and other such disclaimers. But I can't say no to answering the questions. Why is that? Am I such an exhibitionist that I need to do that? That I have that few people to speak to day to day that it's the closest semblance to a conversation that I can have? Is it that compulsion not to leave any open ends unanswered?

And then, there is that stupid sense of disappointment when you've invited someone to fill in the survey, as you did, because you want to see how they answer, and they choose to ignore the survey. Now, of course, 90% of the time, you know how the person you've invited is GOING to answer. And, yes, some of the time it is becaues you send it to someone who means something to you to ensure that they feel about you the way that you feel about them. (For example, when asked, "Who is the first person you thought of this morning?" had BETTER be answered recipriocally, or else a huge wave of depression may crash.)

I find myself filling out these surveys ad nauseum. I'll stop for a while, and then I wonder if I'm hurting the feelings of the person who sent them to me in the first place. Do I mean that much to that person that they want me to chime in? Will I be disappointing them if I don't respond, just as I am disappointed when people I invite don't answer? So, of course, I can't hurt their feelings, and I fill out more surveys.

Each one of these surveys, by the way, starts with the same disclaimer - BE HONEST. Hmm. Be honest. What if you can't be honest, as your impulse requests? Ever find yourself starting to answer honestly, but then you pause, thinking, "What if HE doesn't feel the same way that I do? Am I going to look like an ass? Will it embarass him if I answer honestly?" So, then you can't answer honestly. You answer slightly honestly. You use innuedo, insinuating him (or her), without naming names, hoping that he will be the only one to figure out its him. But then, OY!, someone else figures it out. And then comments on it, exposing your clever ways. Which makes it worse. So what do you do? Do you learn your lesson and never respond to another survey?

Oh, hell, no. Why? I don't know. Which is why I'm writing this blog.

Now, here's another exploration on impulses. You are in a situation where you regularly would follow your impulses. But, historically, whenever you have, everything goes awry. You find yourself being advised by friends, and by your gut, not to follow your gut, even though your gut tells you to do one thing or another.

So your gut ties itself up in knots - do this, but don't do this, because by virtue of the fact that I'm telling you to do this should tell you that you shouldn't do this. &*%($#&*(%$(&#!!!!!

What if the impulse that you are supposed to ignore is the impulse NOT to do what your gut tells you to do? And, if not following your gut is supposed to relieve stress and turmoil in your life, why does it create MORE stress in your life because of the amount of effort it takes NOT to do what you want to do?

BUT, if you DO what you want to do, you can easily make the situation even WORSE.

Argh.

Signing off for now...

Your Friendly Neighborhood Cat Chasing Its Own Tail and Choking On The Furballs...

The one thing in my life that is like clockwork...

As has been the case for the past couple of weeks, I woke up at 4:30 am on the dot. Like a Swiss-precision watch, the eyes open, the clock blinks "4:30" in my face, and I'm left staring at the ceiling, the wall and unable to get back to sleep. By 4:45, I'm on the computer trying to waste away some time and bore myself to sleep by randomly surfing the web, throwing down ideas for a project or two that I want to do.

Mind you, this is typically after falling asleep prematurely, and without being able to get what I need to get done before bed. Part of this is my own fault, as I get overwhelmingly tired by, around, 10 pm, decide to change into my PJs and rest a bit in bed. I can't exactly help it - the fatigue can get quite all-consuming. So, I just sit, figure, "I'll just rest my back/digest dinner/whatever," and then, 5 1/2 hours later, I awake. As though it were 9:00 am with the sunshine streaming in my eyes from the window and a full cup of coffee. I'm alert, I'm perky, and I am not going to be able to sleep for hours. I can turn off the lights, lie down, throw the covers over my face to block out any light and sounds and force myself to reduce my oxygen intake by stifling myself, but, inevitably, before Queen Mab can have a chance to present a dream, I'm sitting up, staring into the dark, aware of too much around me.

The root of this torpor torture? I have absolutely no clue. None, whatsoever. No simple resolution. Warm milk, herbal tea, counting sheep, blindfolds, hot compress, you name it, it hasn't worked.

So, now, I'm on the computer, watching the TV news, where I learned of the death of Travis the Chimp (which sounds ridiculous, but I am actually, personally, familiar with Travis in Stamford), trying to figure out why Linda Schmidt, Fox 5 news reporter, is reporting on the story at Stamford Train Station, many miles away from Rock Rimmon Road, where the attack took place and the chip lived. At least she should be at Stamford Hospital, where the victim of the attack is still recovering.

But you see what I mean? It's now 5:03 am, I've been up for less than half an hour, and this is what I'm reduced to. Watching a neighbor saying that he'd rather take the chimp out for a drive than his own nephews. I'm sure Aunt Macari is seething. And, me? I'm the idiot typing this story up on my blog.