It's been a hard day to be honest.
Anxiety has boldly and without warning walked in the front door again, neglecting to even knock the dirt off its foul boots and I had forgotten how debilitating that can be. It's not the worst anxiety of my life, I can assure you. And at least I know enough of its deceptive tricks and ways to know how much it lies, how truly insidious it is.
Which does help. But not enough.
And anxiety never travels without its evil Siamese twin, depression. At least in my experience.
Sort of like Putin and the Saudi Crown Prince.
I went to lunch with the family today. I did that. I drove to town and met some of my beloveds and we ate at a very popular Cuban cafe which was packed and the line went all the way down a hallway whose walls were painted Melania Christmas Tree Red but we ate outside and that was sweet. There were plantains and black beans, white rice and Cubano sandwiches.
There were french fries and August ate a basket full and I think he drank the ketchup. We passed around food and shared and sampled and I had a Cortadito which is so delicious. I know I did not need the extra caffeine but I swear, I don't think it makes much difference when I'm in this place of rather constant dread.
It was so lovely, having lunch with my family but it felt as if I was in a bubble the entire time. I'd pick up on a tiny piece of conversation and ask, "What? What movie are you talking about?"
I'm here, but I'm not here.
I took the recycle down to the trash depot today and after I'd dumped the glass into the proper container, I went back to the car to get the plastic to put it where it belongs.
I couldn't find it. I knew I'd had it in the car. Where had it gone? Did I set it down somewhere when I carried the glass to dump? As soon as I walked back past the regular garbage container I remembered I'd thrown it in there. Just carried it over and thrown the plastic into the wrong place. And then promptly forgotten.
I went to the post office afterward and somehow, between there and my house, which is not quite two blocks, I couldn't find the one piece of mail we'd gotten. I searched and searched the car. I'd thought I'd put it up under the visor on the passenger side but it wasn't there. Finally I found it- under the visor on the driver's side.
This is one of the ways anxiety affects me. Now to be honest, the older I get, the spacier I get. That's just the truth. But this is a whole other level of inability to concentrate.
It's almost interesting in an observatory way.
Anyway, it's Friday night and my husband is home. He held me for a moment and I cried a little and he asked me why and I said what I always say when this happens which is, "I'm just having a little bit of a hard time," and he is so sweet about it but he knows by now that this happens and that I will get over it. I always do.
I'm going to cook us a piece of grouper and some of the salt-boiled and then roasted little potatoes which are heaven on this earth. Luckily I will probably still be able to cook when I've been dead for three days and so there will be a supper tonight. It might take awhile but eventually, there will be a meal.
I have no idea how to end this tonight.
I guess I'll just say, as usual, Happy Friday, y'all.