A small spell of anxiety yesterday led me to understand that I'd let things get under my skin. It was a bad week--foot surgery, seriously ill dog, a family upset about which no more needs to be said, a manuscript that I obsessed over getting done because it wasn't coming together as I wanted--or the editor and I weren't in agreement. On top of all that, I reviewed a book about agoraphobia. Now why was I dumb enough to do that--that's like bringing all those old ghosts right up here in front.
Today I woke up with that old feeling--will it happen again? This time I took charge, went happily about my errands, did stuff at home. I decided not to obsess about that incomplete manuscript? I'll get to it, at a leisurely pace, when I can. I'm supposed to be reading galleys of my 2002 novel, Sundance, Butch and Me, but I put a new cozy mysery on my Kindle--it's my treat for tonight. My choice was Lorraine Bartlett's The Walled Flower. Had a "picnic" on the porch with Jacob, took a long nap, and am relaxing about things. Jacob is with me from noon today until two or three tomorrow. He had such a hilarioius good time at the party last night I thought he'd be bored with me, but he woke me from my nap by saying, "I love you, Juju" (okay, truth was he wanted company while he used the potty) and tonight he said, "This has been the best day." Why am I so lucky?
Yes, I'm still worried about my dog--he isn't eating and therefore isn't getting his pain pills or antibiotics. But I've put all the rest behind me. Sure will be glad, however, when I can do yoga again.
Anybody who struggles with anxiety--and I know there are many of us--will understand. I wish all of you peace and comfort.
Happy St. Patrick's Day to all the Irish from one with just a bit of Orange Irish in her Scottish bloodstream.