Jimmy-Jammed Up

I heard someone use the phrase “jimmy-jammed up” last week, and since then I’ve been obsessed with finding a way to use that in a sentence. On my walk this evening, I found it.

Here it is: Sometimes, I get jimmy-jammed up.

Jimmy-jammed up is the perfect way to describe how I feel a lot of the time.  I feel like I just don’t know. I don’t know ANYTHING. I am absolutely paralyzed with fear over the idea of making a decision or choice, no matter the size or severity. I can’t tell you what I feel like eating at any given time, because well…I just don’t trust myself. I don’t trust that I know what I want or what is good for me. I have a history of making wrong decisions, or misreading everything and making bad choices. This is me right now.  I’m TOTALLY “Jimmy-Jammed up.” When I’m asked for my opinion now, it’s basically a solid, “Not sure.” Commitment to any plan? No thank you. I just can’t right now, and it feels so foreign to me. I am, and have been for most of my life, an extremely opinionated person. I’ve been black or white. No grey areas. I’ve been right or wrong. No negotiations. Now, I’m just like….meh, or blah or I don’t know. Don’t ask me. It’s gotten so bad that now I’m relying on strangers to tell me what I should do. Honestly, I asked a Starbucks barista what she thought I should order. I’m completely disturbed by this.

I usually get relief from my “jimmy jammers” on long runs in the morning, and long walks with my dog in the evening. I get to escape the anxiety that life choices, big and small bring, by taking video of a woodpecker pecking a tree (Guys, I swear this is basically #1 indicator that you are getting older. Bird watching/videoing.) Tonight’s walk/meditation/ritual nature therapy was short. I stopped to talk to a stranger, and ended up hearing about the loss of her husband, her struggle with living on her own and her love of trees. It’s been like that lately though. The dog and I, out on walks, meeting people who tell us the stories of their lives. I can’t help but think of why. Why is it that I’m continually stopping (much to my chagrine), to listen to complete strangers tell me random stories? Yesterday, I met another woman on the trail, who shared her stories with me and really, all I could think was why? Why are there so many people out there, wandering around in basically the middle of nowhere? Why are they talking to me? Why is there so much talking and yet, no one is giving me any answers to the questions I have? Seriously? How DO I like my coffee? What kind of boots should I be buying and for god sakes… What IS my interior design style? Someone please, tell me what I want!

How do I get rid of these jimmy-jammers? I mean, really? Because I just can’t be so wishy-washy anymore. It feels so foreign. I need to be de-jimmy-jammered. Where’s the manual on that?

Please try to use the phrase “jimmy jammed” in a sentence this week. You won’t be disappointed. Until then, here’s a picture of my girl Josie on one of our walks. I take video of her walking, because honestly, her ears bouncing and her tail wiggling as she walks is basically proof that happiness exists. No one is as happy as she is. No one. I just adore her. She came into my life at EXACTLY the right time. If only she could talk. I know she’d give me all of the answers.