I've talked a bit about phobias before and I've got a majorly personal one on the brain now. Social phobia. They also call it social anxiety disorder. One day I'll tell you why I prefer the former.
For those of you fortunate enough not to know what it is, I think of it as shyness to the 10th power. Just to give you an idea-- a general one-- we're all different so things vary by individual:
A shy person goes to the party, but doesn't dance. A social phobic stays home.
A shy person dreads her presentation on Monday. The social phobic calls in.
Social phobics are prone to depression, low self-esteem and panic attacks, they hate crowds, hate phones, hate moving, hate inconveniencing anyone, they rehash their own mistakes mercilessly, walk the long way to the post office so they don't have to speak to the neighbor, pray they can get home without having to speak to anyone, avoid eye contact with waiters and cashiers, dread their sister's wedding for months, think seriously about skipping their favorite aunt's funeral, don't speak to someone they met three months ago unless they're sure that person recognizes them first and they live like that from childhood on knowing that their fears are groundless and generally wondering what in the world is wrong with them.
I'm bringing all this up because this social phobic has applied for a spot in the Savannah Market Bazaar next month. And she's already sick about it.
It's been forever since I've done a show. I did a few when I was younger and on medication to control my issues. Eventually I went off the meds and on some herbal supplements and I stopped selling my jewelry except to friends and I had my jewelry in a gallery. A year and a half ago things got worse literally overnight. Things that were already difficult became impossible, things that were okay became difficult. I re-immersed myself in my art and worked another year before I quit my job. I went back on medication.
Etsy has been good to me and I find Internet anonymity to be a godsend. But my dwindling bank account demands further action. So it's a Bazaar. Mother mine and sister mine have both promised to go with me. Social phobics do better when they have 'safe' people around them. I have lots of inventory and a few weeks to make more. I still have my tent and table.
I need to tag what's not tagged with prices and I want to make some freebies, little thebeadedlily bookmarks. I'm already obsessing about things like what time we have to leave and food and whether I should take seats. There will be some Etsy people there from the newly formed Savannah Etsy Team. I'll have to meet them. I want to meet them, and I don't.
I should make more nose rings. Savannah is the home of SCAD-- Savannah College of Art and Design. World-renowned for art, locally renowned for folks who dress a bit out of the ordinary. I've relished each time someone asked if I was a SCAD student.
So with this hanging over my head like Madame le Guillotine I couldn't blog about anything else. And despite the fact that this is all intensely personal and has to do with beading about as much the guillotine has to do with white horses as I suspect you'll get to hear all about it again.