Too purty to live in town.....

Wednesday 5/2/07

Warning: Instead of being rational and logical, I'm going to be emotional and girly for a little bit. Please indulge me. I'm having a moment.

I had a moderate panic attack this evening. I'm still shaking a bit. It all ended up ok, and I'm very thankful for that, but it's still left me quite shaken.

Maybe if I write it out, some of the remaining adrenalin will be released to the universe and I'll be able to relax finally.

Last night, Joe said something about me picking him up today after school because his dad had a meeting. I don't trust Joe with messages, so I emailed his dad today. I told him if he needed me to pick up Joe I could, but needed him to confirm it. I also requested that in the future, that he please contact me directly by phone or email and not rely on Joe for messages.

He responded that he doesn't rely on Joe for messages, because he knows that doesn't work. But he didn't say if I needed to pick up Joe or not. So I didn't. 7pm comes and goes. No Joseph. 7:15, no Joe. 7:30, I call, get his voicemail. 7:40 he shows up.

By that time, I'm panicked, and shaking. Now, most people wouldn't think anything of being "a little" late, and if it were anyone but Joe, I'd probably agree as well. But to me, that wait was an eternity, especially with the uncertainty of if he was gonna pick up Joe at school.

I kept rationalizing it, saying that if he hadn't picked up Joe, the police would have contacted me by now. It worried me more that they hadn't. Then I started getting really afraid. I was afraid he'd taken Joe and skipped out of state, all over the almighty dollar. I was so afraid I'd never see him again. My imagination just went totally whack, and I couldn't stop it.

If I tell The Donkey what it does to me when he's late, he'll only use that weakness against me, and do it more often just because he'll know how it spins me up.

Logic would say, no harm, no foul. Joe's home and safe now, so I should just move on. I can't go from full panic to calm that quickly. I'm just not made that way.

I don't like it when my anxiety gets all worked up. I don't like that I can't just wait patiently without my overactive imagination making me nuts. I really don't like this trait. I don't like admitting I have it, and I don't like the power it has over me. While it serves me well in writing creatively, it also torments me at times. This is one of those times, and it seems there's not a damn thing I can do about it but take a pill and hope it calms me.

I know this sounds horribly pathetic, and I'm sorry for that. I'll take all the e-hugs, mojo, prayers, good vibes ya'll want to send my way. Send me a joke or something funny to laugh this off and get back to being my usual goofy self, ok?

Thanks for coming by,
Curls