We’re back to that idiotic stage. I mean “I” am but it sounds better in the first person plural.
For a couple of weeks things have been declining. In some sort of stupid burst of infinite wisdom gone wrong, I decided that perhaps if I went out today and didn’t cancel NMD (who, it turns out was going to stand me up for his beloved computer project…this is getting old, real old) then things would get better and all would be well.
It might have been better to try that on a day when it wasn’t 36 degrees. Ugh. I parked my car about 3-4 kilometres from my old university. It didn’t seem like a large distance. I thought given my current reclusive state, I could do with the exercise: at the moment, and I hate to admit it, I’m a flabby cow. I was probably about 10 minutes from my favourite bookshop and I started to panic. There wasn’t any particular reason, everything was fine - to a healthy human being. It was hot, a few people - too many for me - walked past and for no discernible reason I was stricken with fear.
I’m still not entirely sure what it was that I was afraid of. Crossing the road without getting hit. People touching me. Freaking out in public.
I did make it to my bookshop and bought a book about poetry. It has exercises one can do to stimulate ideas and the like. I’d begged NMD to meet me there and even though the poor dear was having a work-related meltdown he came and walked me back to my car, not before making me eat and drink something.
It all sounds dreadfully silly now but about 6 hours ago, I really could have used some sedatives. I haven’t freaked out that badly since I was going to uni and having panic attacks. That was about 5 years ago. I really need to start believing my instincts: I didn’t feel comfortable going out, but I forced myself to do so anyway.
Gee, you’d think a freaking BA and I would’ve learnt something. But no, stayed tuned for more chronicles of the university-educated and infallibly stupid.
