There Is No 12 Step Program.

I’ve already established that I talk a lot.  However, I’m not sure that it’s totally clear that I am also exceedingly dramatic.  If I weren’t so shy, I’d be convinced that I missed my calling.   

If I’m feeling nervous, I have this terrible tendency to “perform”.  I’ll hear words coming out of my mouth that I am literally powerless to stop.  Everyone will be laughing and enjoying whatever funny tale I’m telling.  I’ll be gesturing wildly and making comical expressions, and the whole time, in my head, I’m screaming, “For the love of God, shut up!”  Alas, I can’t.  It’s really quite dreadful.

Kurt, (Hey Kurt!) says I’m full of self created drama, but the truth is, not anymore.  That was the Amy in her 20’s.  Amy in her 40’s likes a nice quiet life….well I’m sure I would if I ever got a moments piece and quiet.  Once again, that’s not the point of this post.  I started off right and then just meandered way off into left field. 

Let me give you an example of my drama.  My line of work is very stressful and sometimes a little drama actually lessons the tension.  I remember once, when something went horribly, drastically wrong, I went over to another co-workers cubicle and laid down on the floor until she noticed me.  It was all just too much to take standing up.  If I come into your office and suggest that you lay down on the floor with me for a minute, you can bet it’s not good news.

In the 1800’s, I’m fairly sure I would have been one of those women who “got the vapors”.  Often times, I suspect I look and act suspiciously like a Muppet. 

The reason for this little bit of character examination was that I scared the hell out of one of my co-workers today.  I didn’t intend to.  Honestly.  In fact, my bit of drama wasn’t even intended for other people’s eyes.  It was a rough day.  It seemed that everything I touched burst into flames.  At one point I flopped down in my chair,  heaved a beleaguered sigh, and flung my top half on my desk.  I lay there, face down on my file, my arms hanging limp at my sides.  My poor friend turned around and quite literally screamed my name.  The poor thing thought that something had happened to me; a stroke, a heart attack, or some other very real catastrophe.   All the rest of our cube mates stood up and looked over the walls, either out of genuine concern for me, or more likely, out of the very real hope that there would be something good to gossip about. 

And all I could do was laugh.  Really, I am very sorry, T.  I’d repent, but we all know that at the very next opportunity, I’ll do something else dramatic so there’s no point in pretending.

I can’t live the lie, T.  I just can’t.  But, it would totally serve me right if I die a slow painful death at my desk while everyone ignores me.