I have a huge, raging headache tonight. I guess because I've been reading a lot today and I left my reading specs at work. I almost feel hung over, I feel so rotten.
Life expectancy for a woman living in the US is currently 80.05 years. This week I've decided that I need to figure out what I'm going to do with my remaining 42.15 years (zod willing) immediately. Last night I laid in bed getting more and more anxious until around 2:00 am when I reached complete panic. I thought of my options - phone a friend, 50/50, ask the audience. I was alone, so the last one wouldn't work. I almost called my DC friend who would have liked nothing more than me hyperventilating on the other end of the line at 2am on a work night. I thought of getting up to watch television. I could have turned on the light and continued reading that damn book about Columbine. (Probably the source of some of the anxiety.) Thankfully I decided to roll over and go to sleep. Frick.
Tonight the feeling is back, although to a smaller degree. (Give me a few hours.) I feel on edge; I'm about to hike the cat through the window. His purr sounds like an airplane taking off. I'm grinding my teeth and clenching my jaw. What the hell is going on? Where is this pressure coming from? I feel lonely right now. I'm afraid of my future, of doing the wrong thing, of being alone forever. I'm afraid of being unhappy, and it's making me unhappy. The economy and the possible job loss are taking a serious toll, I can tell. I just feel afraid that I'm not going to make it. I'm taking it all pretty hard this week. Jesus, I need to stop listening to The Weepies.
I have another massage tomorrow. I know. It's with my usual girl, who, if I can get her to keep her trap shut, is really quite wonderful. I love to get the rub down in total silence and just use the time to meditate on feeling inner peace. Om.