Clenching

Over-compensating, or trying too hard, is one of my psycho bad girls. Fit a square peg into a round hole? Watch me. . . I will make it happen or die trying. The more pointless the task, the more willing I am to give my life for the cause. Why? Well. . . Still sorting. . . Theories abound. Facts unavailable. Does psychosis need a reason why? Ply therapy tools here.

Clenching is one of my nag flags for trying too hard. This morning finds me wondering, again, if it is the primary symptom. I think the first muscles to tighten in my psychotic clenching sequence are in my gut. Maybe. Hard to know.

I have been obsessing about staircases since some odd hours before I wrote the check to begin the lab construction. Anxiety has been having a field day over whether demolition of the old building really will begin next week or. . . Horror stories abound about construction cons and mishaps. My dumb broad psychosis has extra levels of potential disaster contributions to the standard horror stories. Anxiety can get creative with the conjectures. If the ifs all come into alignment, the new rooftop garden will need a staircase for access. I figure an outside access will save interior space and be simpler than building a door into the roof. Researching and sketching staircase ideas has felt more productive than reviewing the "What if. . ." scenarios of the project ahead.

The clenching became fierce during my first attempts at sketching the ideas. My shoulders protested the loudest in the clenching. My hands werenae far behind. I blamed the aches on the breakfast bar where I have been working and decided the solution was to get a proper art table. Some assembly required. The clenching business hit my awareness while I was assembling the art desk. How does clenching my eyes help in turning a bolt? I seem to clench every muscle in my body when I am over-compensating. This is far from the first time this awareness has hit my radar, but it feels like a brand new revelation every time I get around to noticing it. Well, just it all. . .

This is morning two in front of the new art desk. A scale outline of my current favorite staircase design is taped to its surface awaiting details while I focus my attention on relaxing the muscles in my gut. Sorting. . .