From bad to worse

The drive home from my quick guest spot took all of the life out of me. A scary sound from the front of my car presented itself last week. It didn't cause me great worry until the ride home. I had to demystify this mysterious noise, so off to the dealer I went. It was an expensive diagnosis. Over one hundred buccaroos for an oil change and to tell me that the wheel bearing was about to stop moving at any unsuspected moment. Yet I drove onward, about 30 miles, until paranoia settled in. I worried about the wheel getting stuck, the car spinning around, and then an unknown demise would follow me. If I was lucky then I would survive unscathed, but the worst case scenarios burdened my mind. They always do. I was now determined to turn around, and get it fixed... Spending another $500 is positively worth me living. The time wasn't wasted since it was spent with some extended family members, and we rarely get to see each other the past couple of years.

Now the car seems to ride as smooth as silk. It might be dented all about, but that's only superficial to me. In our present shaky financial situation, I'm satisfied with a dented up, stinky, stained, less than fair looking yet smooth driving car.

Then hours later, I took the long ride. My mind raced the entire time. I'm helpless against my own thoughts. Trying to keep a positive outlook while peering out of the windshield into the rainy fogginess was virtually impossible. My poor friends that lent their ears to my hemming and hawing while I drove. It keeps me from sinking deeper. Then I hang up and am drowning in the desperation of my mind.

It didn't get better after arriving at home. Although today is a new day, adn I'm excited to spend time with my son. Except I can't find the glue. For when he wakes up from his afternoon slumber, the plan was to make a wreath of construction paper, autumn colored hands. While my young one rests and my husband is diligently searching away on his computer, I have no idea what to do with myself but write. Being wrapped up in all of this work and traveling has caused me to lose myself.

There is hope that I'll find myself again. Something will present itself, and I will come out of the funk. Perhaps a conversation, a bottle of wine, some cooking.... Drawing, painting. There are so many ideas, but I'm unmotivated to do anything including relax. So here I sit in utter anxiousness and on edge.