Written February 25, 2014
It’s back. It’s burrowing deep within me, winding its way through tunnels filled with love and contentment, leaving tarlike anxiety in its wake. Every little thing, every little thing I know doesn’t matter, isn’t a big deal, has joined hands, banded together to come knock on my door and say “and you thought you could get away.” The knee, the missing photo, the bad haircut, the late class, the Brazil photos, impending school, Jessie’s flu, the misbehaving pill, the horrible music playing in this café, my dwindling bank account… it’s all swirled together now, they’ve all built a cheerleading pyramid on my shoulders, trying to push me down. And it’s working.
After writing that, I feel close to shaking it. Suddenly I do, it’s true. I feel optimistic, like I want to smile. I want to leave this café and go to a museum, wander around and draw my attention outside myself. Then I remember my knee, my late class, the photos. I have things to do.