As I sit here tonight, ignoring my dishes, the messy kitchen, the towels that need folding, the kids that need nose wiping and hugging, the homework that needs checking...I wallow in my anxiety.
I watch the news, a story about drug use in Montana, and my brain is numb to the horrific, sad, bad news headlines. It doesn't phase me. I glance at the grocery ads that came in the mail today. The rising cost of everything from meat to milk should worry me especially since the pocketbook is fading into the red with every week that passes. Still nothing moves me.
I read an email about prayer. We move our mouths in prayer but don't use our hearts to feel what we are saying. A grim reminder of just one more thing that I am not doing. I feel a pang of guilt, but it is only temporary.
I bark at my family, I resist the urge to crawl under the covers of my bed and hide.
I try to distract myself with my newly borrowed book from the bookmobile. I read a chapter. I close the book. I busy myself with supper; chop an onion, shred some cheese, boil some pasta.
I can't shake the sinking feeling.
Tomorrow I meet with the doctor, again. The needle goes in the arm, the five narrow vials get filled and labeled and I sit and wait and practice the art of distraction, unsuccessfully. Note to self: remember a book. My brain wanders again...my name is called and I head back to the white room with the paper sheet on the bed and wait. What will the blood work find, if anything? Six years later and I am reduced to a scared little child again.
I can't wait for tomorrow to be over.