Okay, that's really last week's topic, but I don't see this week's yet and I have exactly twenty minutes and another cup of coffee to churn out a blog post. Let's hear it for deadlines. People, I am pleased to report that the Web site I was managing for a certain nonprofit has been taken out of my hands, by popular vote, and placed into the hands of another, equally competent (probably more competent) person. My stint is done. It ain't my problem no more. Well, actually, it is in that I've got to get this new person the software and the passwords and everything, and show her How It All Works (oops, I said her--well, that narrows it down to 51% of the human race) but in a few weeks I can Wash My Hands of the Whole Thing. I have never in my life been so happy to hand over a task. Happy dance! (In the dark, where no one can see me and think I might be, you know, ungrateful to have had this Service Opportunity or something.)
You see, I have this disease, which I believe is hereditary. I call it Civic Responsibility Syndrome. My dad has it, too, and I think my mom and sister have a touch of it also. It's like this: If I join an organization, the odds are very good that within a year, I'll end up being President. Not by choice or anything; the job just tends to open up, and I just happen to be standing there, and and and. Which was why, when the opportunity arose, I volunteered to take over the Web site. (Western accent, quoting Seth Bullock from Deadwood: "I volunteered to be the building inspector because I didn't want to be the god-damned sheriff!") Yep, that probably says it all right there. If you're in charge of one thing, then you can't be asked to be in charge of the whole thing. And as they say (well, Alison Bechdel said it, anyway), "She who controls the details, controls the organization."
So. I am no longer in charge of the Web site. This is a good thing. Now, I've got to find some way to not be President, or anything else for that matter. This organization is awesome, but I'm fine with just being a rank-and-file for a while. Maybe forever. Because, well, people, I am having a hard time over here.
Yeah, it could just be one of those mood swings. Or it could be encroaching menopause (I've got some of the symptoms, and yes, I know I'm only forty-two.) But, seriously, things are not going well. I'm not getting to the pool on time, and consequently spending less time swimming once I finally show up. I've (ahem) gained ten pounds since Halloween. I've been on and off sugar, which messes with my meds and sends my brain into the outer stratosphere. This last week I've had an ongoing battle with cake frosting, which is the Jen equivalent of heroin (minus the projectile vomiting). I feel like aliens have possessed my body and are plainly out to kill me. All I have to do is start drinking again and--
No, that would be bad. That would be very very bad. You think sugar messes with my meds...
The trouble is, try explaining to anybody that you're addicted to sugar. They look at you like you're crazy. (Hi.) I mean, you need sugar to live. Everything you eat is eventually broken down into simple sugars. True fact, but large quantities of refined sugar still hit my system like--well, more like cocaine than heroin really, but cocaine addiction really doesn't convey the same sort of picture that heroin addiction does. Lack of needles, maybe. And no, just for the record, I haven't tried either one. Just going on What I've Been Told here. Given my lack of funds (my parents are rich; I am a salaryman, or salarywoman, whatever) and my tendency to abuse any substance available until it's gone, I think that's probably Just As Well.
So, anyway, I don't know what to do about this. Except what I've been doing; keep going to meetings, keep working the Twelve Steps, keep emailing my sponsor, blah blah blah etc. And stay out of the kitchen at work to the extent possible. I wish they'd move the ice machine closer to the door.