self-comforting behavior

It's been a challenging fall for a lot of reasons. Uncertainty about stuff on campus, some people I care about going through some really sad and difficult things (A friend of mine was basically de-friended*, in a rage-quit sort of way, by a lifelong friend. My friend had done nothing to precipitate it and the person who de-friended her has a brain illness that is probably affecting her behavior, but still - I can tell my friend is hurting deeply over this, and I hurt with her).

(*In the real-world, "I want nothing more to do with you ever" sense, not the Facebook sense)

And I notice, when stuff around me is tense, some odd little quirks come out. I just noticed it today - I still, sometimes, when walking down the hall here, run a knuckle along the wall - in one of the "mortar grooves" of the painted brick wall. It is ridiculous how comforting it is to me. It's not QUITE the adult version of sucking one's thumb, but it comes close.

I really wonder what the neurotransmitter things are involved with that. Why should such a random behavior be comforting to me? Is it that it makes me feel grounded in some way, like how some holistic health people recommend going out and touching the ground once a day. (They call it "earthing" and I can see no real reason why it should have a medical effect, unless it is some kind of mind-body thing).

I also find if I cross my right arm across my body - like I'm going to put my right hand on my shoulder - it tends to be comforting. I suspect this is because it reminds me of when my family had cats and I used to cradle one over my arm, or how I sometimes hold one of my stuffed critters now. (I can't bring a stuffed critter to work for a comfort, but I can pantomime holding one, sitting at my desk)

And I also discovered the Mah Jong Titans game on my home computer - I had not turned on the Microsoft games functionality and then someone was talking about Spider Solitaire, and I thought, wow, I haven't played that in years. And so I figured out how to turn the games on, and realized there was one of those Mah Jong tile-matching games. I used to play one online years ago, and hadn't for a long time. And for some reason, when I am unusually anxious about something (like Tuesday night, thinking about the bloodwork), that shuts up the "brain weasels." I suppose it's the specific sort of concentration it requires, and the fact that it's a very in-the-moment thing. (and when you match two dragon tiles, they disappear with a little puff of flame! And the flower tiles have a little burst of flowers and a bit of birdsong. It's almost like how Wizard Mah Jong would be!)

I'm beginning to find comfort in knitting again, after feeling a bit "meh" about it for a while. And I am thinking about starting another crochet critter - I will have to decide whether to hold to my original plan to do Treehugger, or whether I make the Filly Trixie I bought a pattern for (after reading another Trixie fanfiction the other day), or whether I do Oh from Home.

And, okay, I confess: I bought yet another stuffed critter. A toy baby hippo this time. I was thinking about Worst Cats again and then I saw the hippo and I decided I wanted it. (I'll post a picture some time, maybe). And yeah, sitting with it tucked up under my arm does help a little.

I've decided the hippo (originally dubbed "Worst Cat" but he really needs a proper name) is a he. I can't quite decide upon one of two names. The first one was a name from deep in my childhood - Hector.  No, not like the Trojan. There was a cartoon character I occasionally saw, sort of a Revolutionary-War era inventor, named Hector Heathcoate and for some reason, as about six or seven, I LOVED that cartoon. I had a toy bear and later a toy mouse named Hector, so maybe it's time to pull the name back out.



But then the name Oswald popped into my head out of nowhere, and I can't decide if he maybe looks more like an Oswald....

I also find myself thinking of trying to design a dress for my Sweetie Belle.

A few days ago, I think it was on the OKC news channel (which I get, but just the news - they rerun the morning news again and again until noon, then rerun the noon news...), there was a story about a woman with an enormous collection of Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls. And in the course of the story she made a comment about something like how she never had one as a child (I got the impression her family didn't have a lot when she was growing up) and she was making up for lost time now.

And that kind of makes me wonder: what am I making up for, with all my critters and my little MLP figurines and the comic books? I was NOT a deprived child; if anything, I had too many toys. Though I wonder if the fact that I was lonely a lot as a kid - I didn't have a lot of friends, and especially at school I felt kind of like an outcast - maybe had some bearing on that. I don't know.