So this time tomorrow we'll be sitting in the Atlanta airport (how odd to fly north and then fly south right back over where you've just flown) and Mr. Moon is on his way to town with his list and I am here at home with mine which is getting whittled down.
I am so damn grateful for this prescription of Ativan I have. I am not misusing it and can't refill it before we leave due to regulations but that's fine- I have plenty.
Why is it so anxiety-producing to pack and to leave?
I think of us getting up tomorrow morning at three-thirty or whatever ungodly hour it will be and I know how insane I am in the mornings anyway, always, never not, and add to that the insanity of how I worry about getting to the airport in time which is ridiculous, and it's going to be a bit...freaky.
I don't worry about flying. For some reason, that's not one of my fears. That is entirely out of my hands and it's all up to the mechanics and the pilots and let them get good sleep tonight.
Anyway, I need to keep crossing stuff off my list. I need to go to the post office and have them hold our mail. I need to clean out the hen house and fill up the feeder and the waterer. I need to water the porch plants. I need to make up the bed with clean sheets. I need to finish packing.
I need to polish my silver.
Okay. Breathe. I have all day long. All will be well.
Oh. And eat something. You know anxiety is real when I forget to eat.
The sandhill cranes just flew over, calling their rusty cry.
I am in wonder. I am in awe. I am going to be okay.