Friday chickenBecause it’s Friday AGAIN. And because traditions are important. In which I cover the good stuff and the hard stuff in my week, trying for the non-preachy, non-annoying side of self-reflection.

And you get to join in if you feel like it.

The word for this week is progably, which is how I keep spelling probably.

As in, Selma and I will progably be back from North Carolina by the time the Chicken goes up. Yes. Well.

I keep hoping that if I just bring enough attention to this particular pattern, that it will resolve itself.

But … progably not.

The hard stuff

Brain overload.

The Barbara Sher retreat was pretty amazing (see under: good stuff).

It was also very intense. I got too full.

Body pain from sitting. Brain pain from thinking.

Too much.

Introvert pain.

I don’t really think of myself as an introvert most of the time because I’m too busy thinking of myself as a cranky misanthrope.

But yes. Being around people for more than short periods of time drains me rather than energizing me.

And the retreat was five days. At any given point Selma and I were in a room with five to fifteen people.

Here’s the thing. I absolutely cannot do the people thing for more than a couple hours. And if I do? I need loooooong periods of time to recover.

But there were no periods of time to recover in.

So I went into highly sensitive introvert panic mode and had to keep running away.

I just need so much more alone time than what I was able to get for myself this week. A lot of discomfort there.

Oh, and I lost my wallet.

Luckily not the one that had my all my co-op member cards and stuff. Jeez.

But driver’s license and credit card. Ugh.

Scrapes and scars.

Somehow I managed to get four different cuts on my right hand. Ow.

Completely irritating. It’s the spacing out that annoys me more than the cuts or the lost driver’s license.

How did I not notice any of this stuff?

And that’s where the brain overload thing goes from annoying to scary.

And wear and tear.

Last week I mentioned how all my clothing is falling apart? I get to the retreat and my socks have holes, my favorite dress gets an olive oil stain, and my one pair of pants get a rip.

Lovely.

My outsider complex.

I know. Everyone has one.

But it still seems that I am invariably the odd one out.

Because as always — this is true for every retreat/seminar/whatever I’ve ever been to — I’m the youngest, the most biggified and the only one who is accompanied by a duck.

Which is a weird combination. You think we’d be used to it, but we’re not.

And then this: Aside from actually being young, I look younger than I am. I know that, but apparently everyone thought I was more like ten years younger.

Which is progably flattering. But also really weird. Yes, I started my successful coaching and consulting company when I was seventeen. What?!

Not to mention the incongruity of being in a world where hardly anyone knows who you are.

Yup. Have been coasting on the internet fame for far too long.

It’s been forever since I had to tell someone what I do (I have no clue) or who Selma is.

Very odd. Not bad. But anxiety-inducing. A little. Yes.

Shoe-throwing.

Every once in a while, someone who has no business being anywhere near my business finds their way in.

This person thought they could take advantage of a system loophole, and when I called them on it, they started throwing shoes all over the place, and we had to show them the door.

I mind the shoes a hell of a lot less than I used to, but I really don’t like the fact that anyone other than my Right People can show up in the general Fluent Self orbit. Working on that.

Missing my gentleman friend.

No more of this retreating nonsense! I want a hug!

Way way way too many fake band names.

They just won’t stop. How am I supposed to choose the fake band of the week with this massive run of ridiculousness?

And onward to the good.

The good stuff

The retreat.

Barbara Sher! Barbara Sher! Barbara Sher! She is absolutely amazing.

And really, really funny.

And man, does she have a dirty mouth. It was awesome.

I will follow her anywhere.

Got a room with carpeting.

Makes it way easier to keep to the morning yoga with all this traveling.

My tiny bag.

Sure, I write about traveling light.

But when people see it, they’re totally impressed.

It’s a small thing, but I like it.

I got to meet Amna!

You probably know her as @Germinational if you’re on Twitter.

I like her!

A lot!

Expect to hear plenty more about her. Because she is going to be doing great stuff.

Amna made me foods!

Really good foods.

I love it when people make me foods.

Mmmmmm. Foods.

Huge biggification steps.

The stuff we were working on at the retreat was super helpful.

I know a lot of things now that I didn’t realize I knew/needed/wanted. And I’m running with them. And it’s very exciting.

Nothing crashed and burned while I was gone.

The pirate ship is still running smoothly.

The Kitchen Table is still the best place in the entire world.

I managed to write a few blog posts despite having no time and being exhausted.

And this is proof that my systems are working. Because I was able to step away — not on Emergency Vacation — and everything ran like clockwork. Phew.

I got to see the Blonde Chicken again!

I know you’re thinking, didn’t we just have the Blonde Chicken Chicken Chicken? And no, it was a while ago.

But still.

So cool to finally meet an internet friend in person and then … see her again a few months later.

Massage.

Some wonderful people at the Twitter bar recommended places to stay in/near Asheville (especially @robknapp who is the most generous, helpful person ever) and I ended up with gorgeous accommodations.

And got upgraded to a suite. You’ve probably never seen a duck in a suite before. It was cool.

And we got a massage from a woman named Diedre. And there are no words to describe the happy.

I’m apparently over my massage trauma.

Back home.

As of … late late late last night.

But it’s home. Hoppy House! And this crazy, wonderful, complicated, exhausting, biggifying week is over.

And … playing live at the meme beach house!

Yes, that’s a Stuism too.

My brother and I have this thing where we come up with ridiculous band names and then say in this really pretentious, knowing tone, “Oh, well, you know, it’s just one guy.”

This week’s band is:

Begging For Parody.

It’s really just one guy.

And yeah, Stu will be back next week when I’m not all retreat-ey.

That’s it for me …

And yes yes yes, of course you can join in my Friday ritual right here in the comments bit if you feel like it.

Yeah? Anything hard and/or good happen in your week?

And, as always, have a glorrrrrrrrrrrrious weekend. And a happy week to come.

The Fluent Self