The panic creep is creeping. I think I’d really have Slenderman or whatever in the corner of my eye, because at least you could go, oh, damn, I’m murdered. With the panic creep, you just get to watch yourself doing weird-ass nonsensical things like pulling off the side of a road with no one behind you because you don’t want to have to wait at red light and risk a panic attack, but that means turning around and waiting on the other side of the intersection for the light to change. Suddenly, that sort of decision makes sense because expediency is lord.
I have an earth-crushing amount of work to do and I am not bringing it home and doing it. I keep saying, well, I don’t really need to worry about the things I can’t stop worrying about it until after I get back in Italy when I have essentially four days to wrap up my job.
And every night I go home and the current boss sends me three or four emails of “could you please” and none of it is a whole journey through the desert level of difficulty, but when you add it up and even if I blow off everyone who comes to see me to keep my head focused, it’s not possible. It is not, in my estimation, possible. I’m sorry, but it’s not. My mentor came and saw me and I told her much the same, and she said, just focus on the important stuff and then Hooray! Italy! This is a great plan except I think everything is important because it comes from an outside request. And there isn’t time to do anything but whatever is closest to my hand or face. I feel shitty and apologetic about this and so many other things, but, hell, we go to bed, we get up, we muddle and then we worry. That is what we have to do.
I was really hoping the current garcon du jour would be there for our last and my last market. But apparently, no. And that is because, in reality, in the space that exists outside of my delusions, that airless realm, he’s an actual human with things going on and possibly a girlfriend and is here when he is here because he has to be and a grownup girl would know all of that well before now so that thinking at all about him would be moot and forgotten.
There’s so much to be excited about and my body, while it maintains this surface calm, I think the lower processing levels…the ones that really know what’s going on (or the ones I try and go to for rationality, while further mental depths are required for the exact leaps of faith and crazy that made all of this possible) are starting to send out little signals. The signals say the worst case scenario is going to happen and if we don’t adjust and prepare, when the happiness of these changes leaves us, we will be hurt so terribly. It thinks it is helping when all it is doing is stealing any joy out of my life right now and pushing me towards the self-medicating principles that fuck my shit up.
A morning follows.