Oh gosh. Here we are.
I feel like I'm in the agitate portion of the wash cycle.
Agitato, as Kinky Friedman says.
And all because there are tiny little bumps in my regular routine. The springtime parade on Saturday which we traditionally go to Hank's house to watch because his place is right downtown on the parade route. Of course the weather forecast calls for 60% chance of rain. So that's worrying me.
Mr. Moon is leaving on Sunday to go grouper fishing and then on Thursday he and I and his sister are all meeting up in Apalachicola to spend the weekend together. And that will be great fun but just the thought of leaving my home, deviating from my little rut-of-a-life in these few ways has me whirling inside. And it's so ridiculous. It's not like I'm flying to some war-torn country to distribute aid to the starving.
What is wrong with me?
Well, that's a good question, isn't it?
I'm so tired of being such a fucking wuss that anything requiring me to creep beyond my regular parameters can cause me to freak.
I guess the important thing is that I can do these things and will do them. I'm not yet to the point where I'm completely chained to my house and yard. At least I have a pretty big yard.
I may dread and fret and worry (and I know this all sounds so crazy but hey! that's only because it is and I do recognize that) but I will pull up my big girl panties, I WILL cowboy-up, cupcake, and go to the parade (if it doesn't rain) and to Apalachicola and the damn thing is- I will enjoy myself tremendously. I know I will.
There. That's me this morning. Anxious and crazy and the sky is gray and it's chilly and I have to take a walk and I'll probably go to town to go to the library (which thankfully is still within the bounds of my sanity to go to) with Lily and the boys and then maybe to lunch, too.
I know I sound ridiculous. You should try listening to how it sounds from inside my head.