Week In A Nutshell

Wow, what a week. Even by my mood-swingy standards, this one was a doozy. And guess what? I've discovered a brand-new type of anxiety: Excitement anxiety! At least it's new to me. Its major symptoms include butterflies in my stomach, a more-than-normal-but-still-less-than-needed sleep, and the occasional tendency to point out to everyone exactly how big a badass I am. Everyone loves that part of my personality. I know this to be true.

So apparently I'm actually, really, for real kick starting a solo practice, complete with at least one client who will pay me! Possibly there will be two, and I will begin saving for a freaking smartphone. People, my phone is from about 2006, only holds 30 incoming text messages, and gets mocked by the Best Buy guys. I need to upgrade.

Aside: Why would my phone save only 30 incoming texts but keep 200 outgoing texts? I don't care what I write; I care about what others write to me. Stupid.

I had some really good support from the boy, who listened for almost two hours as I went on about this new anxiety and excitment and feeling that maybe, for once, I might actually know what I'm doing. That's some hardcore work for a boy with the attention span of a five-year-old. So thank you, honey. And thanks for last night, when I tried to explain some of my insecurities when it comes to us. And don't worry; we are just fine. I got great support as well from Wade, Cita, B, and Momma. I couldn't do this without all of you. I love you!

So I mentioned the insecurity part; the part where my brain cannot possibly accept that someone prefers me over the myriad women in the universe; the part that cannot trust that actions really do mean more than words. I hate that part of me, but it's in there, and I'll probably always struggle with it.

But I got some perspective in an email from Momma telling me that her heart is back in defib and we have to do this whole Coumidin/heart clinic/ shock procedure again. I managed throughout the day and cried all the way home from the hairstylist. This time, the fear was visceral and I got the beginnings of just how bad it could get and just how bad it will be when Momma dies. I told the boy I'd probably have to be committed to some place with the good drugs and the paper slippers.

This worry trumps everything else and kicks my ass back to where my priorities need to be. This is a good thing, but also a scary thing, and you know I'll tell you all about it as events unfold.

But think good thoughts for Momma. Please.