Maybe if I sit down and write here, then the anxiety will go away.
It’s debilitating. I have had it all day. Shortness of breath. Inability to sit still. Inability to choose a task. Catastrophic thinking. Stop.
I want to talk about the catastrophic thinking.
Damn, I’m good at it.
On my way to Panera Bread, I was almost convinced that if I ordered Mac ‘n Cheese, then I would have a terrible time writing, wouldn’t get my favorite table and would have to leave early. All because of Mac ‘n Cheese.
I didn’t order Mac ‘n Cheese.
Thankfully, it wasn’t to avoid some fictional catastrophe in my head. I ordered something else to be healthy. Maybe. Maybe that’s just what I’m telling myself.
Maybe I don’t really need to analyze this.
I’m a stellar catastrophizer. Catastrophizer isn’t a word.
It should be.
I literally agonized over the decision on where to write.
I have a few haunts. I drove around aimlessly for 35 minutes trying to dismantle the catastrophes associated with each place. I finally worked through (I think) my Mac ‘n Cheese catastrophe well enough to force myself in the building and to the table.
Now I sit here.
What to write? Besides my obvious hang-ups.
Well, sometimes hang-ups are all writers have. They make good plot lines.
In reality? They look a little crazy.