The anxiety is like a third child. I have to manage her carefully. She’s a tough one. Today, she’s made it clear she doesn’t want to go far from the house. Still, I push the issue. I drag my anxiety to Rite-Aid, to the pet supply store, to the Thai place for takeout. I stop at the bike place as well. I need a beach cruiser. I need to burn off this energy.
Nothing is coming out right today. I can’t find the words. At the Rite-Aid, I stutter, I stumble on my words, I flush from cheeks to neck. Anxiety is constantly pulling on my leg, pulling on my heartstrings, clinging to my neck, crawling onto my shoulders. I want to put her down for a nap, but she’s having none of that.
What would help? I miss my animals in Massachusetts. I miss my female friends, especially, across the globe. Women seem to understand anxiety. They talk about such things. I miss my daughters, who have been away for a month with their dad. I miss my mom, who is being a very good sport about caring for my animals while I am here in Southern California. The split-life is tough for a homebody, despite the fact I am lucky to have it.
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