Anxious moments cause anxious moments

I’m sitting here pondering what to feed myself in an hour.  Have agreed to go for a beer with a mate, in a vain attempt at “calming down.”  (why is it known as calming down?  Why not just calming?).  Unlike the rest of society who, to me, all seem uber confident, uber happy and uber successful – I find the smallest things impossible, and some of the larger things less troublesome.  I’m back to work tomorrow after a few days off and am a bag of nerves.  I usually am.  The prospect of working with some of the people there is, well, less than thrilling.  They’re not “my type of people,” on the whole.

And this week, I’ve been given a task – one which everyone else has done before, and one which last year I could never, ever imagined I would be doing.  And I’m re-colouring my pants with nerves.  Shall I have a sandwich or something more substantial?  Certainly don’t feel like eating anything.

Yet, my Mother’s trouble – she has some kind of cancerous growth in her mouth -  doesn’t make me nervous or panicy.  I am almost numb in that regard.  And, while I don’t consider myself selfish, maybe I am.  Maybe I’m self-obsessed; maybe I’m vain; maybe I only think of myself.  All these traits which I despise others having…and I might “hold” each and every one of them.  Disturbing thought.  Oh, and I’m not arrogant too – despite that last sentence.

For all the anxiety and nerves, in a week’s time I just know I’ll be feeling better; the task will be done, the butterflies flown away.  But not yet.  Beer awaits and then, I think, a microwaved curry.

Last night I proclaimed, in a loud voice: “Thank GOD I’m 23!  23!  23!”  Being six or seven again now seems far more appealing…