Fight or Flight?

It happens to be a legit medical term; “fight, or flight”. When you are under stress or some sort of attack the body, the brain, the nerves are all faced with the reaction to either fight or take flight. And how does the body show this uncertainty to either run for the hills or throat punch your attacker? Well, that’s an easy one; you blush. When you don’t know whether to run or to stay put, your body, brain and nerves work furiously to decide how to protect yourself; and there it is, possibly the biggest problem of them all.

When it comes to blushing I am an expert. Not at avoiding it, no, at being prize in portraying that rosy glow. Well for me, it’s more like a giant beacon of red, but a more feminine and demure glow is how I wish to portray myself. I have attempted to find ways of avoiding this blushing problem that I have somehow contracted in my years through puberty and a generally painful progression into society. I have narrowed it down to a few sources of the problem.

Firstly, they (and by they I mean “the internet”) suggest that blushing can often be exacerbated by a lack of self-confidence. Secondly, that the body’s response to the “fight or flight” complex is easily triggered, apparently it is a medical condition; and thirdly, clumped together is emotional stress, social anxiety and being love struck.  As far as I’m concerned I think my levels of self-confidence are we they should be, not overly self-confident in which people find it painful to be around me, and not lacking self-confidence to the point where I find it painful to be around myself. More importantly, I’m 90% sure I don’t suffer from a scary medical condition with an unattractive name. I’m just a serial blusher due to reason three, emotional stress, social anxiety and being love struck.

Because everyone has blushed at some stage in their lives I feel eyes rolling about my blushing complex. In which case you may roll away, because it may not be a medical condition but it is turning out to be problematic in my life. Social anxiety, otherwise known as “awkward moments”, fly around Grahamstown (and life in general) like it is going out of fashion. What is important to note here is that I find myself in awkward situations far too often; and most of them develop from the very similar blush inducing problem, being love struck. I’m not proud, but because I harbor a fear of one day blushing to my death, I have become rather apt at avoiding said awkward moments. For example I once hid behind a car to avoid social interaction with a once struck upon love. It wasn’t successful, but the attempt was made.

I realise that I’m going about this the wrong way, that indeed flight is not the best option in tackling the attack of social anxiety. But faced with the prospect of looking like a stop street when shoved into an emotionally distressing situation I struggle to see a way out of this. I’m pretty certain that I’m not the only serial blusher out there. Everyone goes trough a bout of awkward moments that you’d just rather avoid, because you know very well that the moment the social anxiety hits that face of yours is going show every uncomfortable thought you have in the most subtle colour of them all, blood red.

Coming to terms with my blushing problem has given me two options. I can either, continue in flight mode and avoid those awkward moments altogether and live a blush free and happy life. Or, I can change over into fight mode, and walk head on into those awkward moments filled with embarrassment, social anxiety, and emotional stress and just hope like hell my face doesn’t react differently.

 

The Game Changer

There is something to be said for being able to play “The Game”. Of course there are no defined rules, it’s like prison rules. Anything goes. But when did romance become a sport, a game of people’s feelings? Excuse my naivety but shouldn’t it be, that if you like a girl (or boy) you say something, or do something to make sure she knows it, isn’t this what Shakespeare taught us, what Hollywood shows us and what most love Ballads proclaim? I’ve clearly missed the memo.

I can’t be the only one on the playing field who feels like the smallest player on a rugby team. I’m sure there are other “players” out there hoping someone will call the ref for a time out. If we’re all running around hoping to “win”, then surely by way of playing the game, someone is going to lose? No body likes to lose, so you kit up and face the opponent.

I’ll be honest; I’m no good at this game. I can’t ignore someone if I like them, pretend not to be interested in their interests, flirt with their friends to make them jealous. These Jedi mind tricks are just too much for me, making me look like Bambi on ice. And what’s worse than being useless at the game? Playing against a pro; someone who is fearless when it comes to ignoring you, pretending not to be interested, flirting with your friends, and then roundhouse kicking the logic out of you and treating you like gold, or an ice-cold beer. These are the players you have to watch out for. Their crafty tactics (like “the back handed compliment”) makes them impossible to predict and more importantly, impossible to escape from.

So here is my question; how do you survive on a playing field filled with seasoned professionals and serial gamers. Do you toughen up, get into training and join them? Do you pull an “Underdog” move and come back and conquer everyone? Is that the only way? Or do you sit on the sidelines and watch the game unfold in front of your eyes, knowing that it’s easy to shout advice from the sidelines, but also knowing you’d bomb out in the first minute on the field.

I think it comes down to this: if you’re an expert at the game, if you can read people’s emotions, play like no one can get to you, steam roll the opposition, get people to bend to your will; are you really the winner at the end of the day? When you become so good at the game that eventually you forget the reasons you started playing in the first place, are you really the champion? I’ve had a lot of time and experience to judge my position on this team. Gingerly stepping out onto the playing field,  I’m going to watch out for the serial gamers, make my way to the goal posts and just hang around and wait for The Game Changer, because chances are, he’s out there failing just as dismally as I am. 

Who gave McDreamy the choice?

My favourite scene from Grey’s Anatomy is undoubtedly the scene with Meredith and McDreamy (obviously). Where Meredith is pretty much begging McDreamy to choose her. The line, “Pick me, chose me, love me” had my eyes welling up. Not inventive in dialogue but the emotion behind it is incredible. To the non-Grey’s watchers bear with me; its an emotional scene and if you are a closet romantic, such as myself, even you would want to grab some ice-cream and sob a little.

So Meredith asks McDreamy to choose her, and if you are aware of the dramatic unfolding of this scene, you’ll know that McDreamy doesn’t. It ain’t pretty, but it makes for great TV. I was team Grey all the way I’ll have you know and was just as crushed as anyone when he made the decision to, well not choose her, pick her or love her. So here is my huge issue with the situation and I’m finding this happen to me more and more in sweet, innocent little Grahamstown. Why, oh why oh why did we give “McDreamy” the choice?

                                    

Rhodes has about 7000 students give or take a few. Of those 7000 more than half are female. Of the less than half which are male, a huge number of them are gay, and of the non-gay percentage a seriously large number are taken. So we are left with a very small percentage of straight single men, and unfortunately most of them, if not all, strive to achieve the position of village idiot.

Now where does that leave me? With not much choice… It’s great for the percentage of straight single men because they are out numbered by the straight single females. And here we reach the problem. Spoilt for choice the Grahamstown man becomes a cross between Hugh Hefner and a fat lap dog, they think they’re irresistible, and they won’t get off your lap.

I’ve found myself in the position of “pick me, choose me, love me” on more than one occasion and I will admit, I have become tired of the over emotional antics. If Grahamstown men/boys – “boymen” are going to have this level of power over women in Grahamstown then I’d like to bow out now. Hand in my girl badge and remove myself from the playing field; because you can only have so many conversations with yourself saying, “He chose the wrong girl” or “Karma will get him”. Karma might get him, but she’s older and slower and it might take a while till you see the effects and feel better about yourself.

                    

So even though, 7 seasons later McDreamy and Meredith end up together, he chose wrong.  Somewhere mid season 5 I think he realized. But that doesn’t change the fact that Meredith’s heart was broken. And if I were her I probably wouldn’t have given him a second/third/fourth chance. If you’re going to make the choice, get it right the first time.

 I don’t have 8 seasons of drama to wait for McDreamy.  And I really don’t have the time, to beg him to, “pick me, choose me, love me”. So instead, I’m going to take the choice away completely. Don’t pick me, don’t choose me, and especially don’t love me. 

NIGHT TIME IS FOR SLEEPING

I decided to blog today. For no other reason other than I had some spare time (a rarity) and I realised that my last post was in 2010, a disgrace for someone who aims to be a journalist. Fact is that nowadays, writing for pleasure is more of a luxury than ever before.

These past few months I've found myself swept up, or sucked back up, into the tiny Grahamstown bubble facing second year, my second year of tertiary education. After the initial "shock horror" of how fast time flies I came to the conclusion that life exists in a vacuum down here in the “G-Spot”, as Grahamstown is referred to by many.  

Let’s take, for example, a few girls in my res. I am a strong believer in the recommended 8 hours of sleep, but if you can’t manage those, 7 hours will do. These hours are what help us to function during the day. However, it seems to me that no one has a concept of time in this place, when to sleep, when not to sleep.

When I switch my lamp off at roughly 22:30 I look out my window to see my neighbour’s light still on. Fine, she’s probably working late. When I wake up at around 6, that light is still on. What in the name of all things sane is she doing? Is she afraid of the dark? Is she a vampire? 

This seemed to bother me a great deal more than it bothered my friends when I relayed the strangeness of my neighbour. “She sleeps during the day”, was the only reply I received. She sleeps during the day. Is that what varsity is about, strange anti-social sleeping patterns? Excuse me for my naivety, but my subtle upbringing in the world of ordinary suburbia told me when the sun is up we are efficient, we do our work, we go to class, we grocery shop etc. and when that sun goes down and the lights go out, you sleep. Clearly my whole life has been a lie as I am told that this is not the case. "Nocturnal" is lifestyle many of my peers engage in.

My only issue is this, what happens when you out of the G-Town bubble and into the big wide world where, I’m hoping, the concept of sleeping at night and activity in the day is normality? Unless of course my neighbour aspires to be a night watchmen, that may be the case.