It's All About the Journey

Last night I was already experiencing significant anxiety from the day. I was on the phone in bed, trying to unwind myself. I got up to check the thermostat (anxiety from the bill), count cats (anxiety for kitty prison), make sure there are no packages on the doorstep (anxiety over them getting wet), unpack the Chewy delivery (anxiety about Blanche tearing into the box and eating a month's food in four minutes). I go back to bed. About 11pm, as I'm hearing a story, I hear someone making a lot of noise in what sounded like my backyard. Gabe's not home. I am perfectly calm, of course. Then I hear what sounded like someone tripping over my grill. I do not panic (much), turn on the bedside lamp, grab the tactical war hammer from under the bed, creep down the stairs, turning on no lights because the moon is so bright and I don't want him to see me before I see him. I see Floyd, walking around unbothered, by the patio door to the backyard. Blanche is nowhere to be found. The ...

Swim out past the breakers just to curse the maker's name. What a night. I don't mean it. I don't mean to be sensitive and fragile and whatever... But I am. And I don't think I'd change that. I was counseled tonight to stop feeling everything so deeply. You can do that. You are conditioned to do that. I won't and I don't want to. Stephen asked me if I knew how many in the past four years. I think he said 64. I remember how cold he was when I first brought it up. You can get desensitized. I know.  I heard tonight that a girl I spent an evening with Saturday bashing her ex, well, he died. Suicide. I can't change the face I have. So I just excused myself to go sit down. I went to the office and ugly cried. I never even met the guy. He was not mine to save. Not that I could have. Not that anyone could have. But thank God I still feel it. She's gentle and sweet and beautiful and this perfect little Southern belle. My whole heart breaks for her. I guess if...