On an icy night

The other night, M and I had to work (I help him with his business). The weather here has been cold but clear, but this particular night, there had been freak snow squalls thst brought the visibility down to near zero and caused several pileups. I was driving home on a desolate, barely lit stretch of the highway. The snow had passed through, but the road was soaked, and the temperature was in single digits. I could see ice all around. And I began to pray as I drove 40 miles an hour in the right lane:

Dear Lord, please keep me safe so I can get home to my son and husband. I want to see my son grow up. I know I've been depressed at times and death has crossed my mind, but I didn't mean it. I want to live a long life and be there for the people who love me. Please, God.

I was shaking as I drove, my head filled with visions of splattering all over the highway. My heart felt heavy as I thought about the Boo growing up without a mother.

And then I was at my mother-in-law's to pick up Boo. I hadn't slipped once. I collected my son, hugging him tightly and kissing his precious face, and carefully got him into the car. Then I drove home like one of the old ladies I'm always beeping and swearing at. Because now I understand: Every day is an icy night to them.

And I also understand something else, in vivid Technicolor: My life is good. My husband and son are my most precious assets. And in one second, one slip of the tires, all those things can change.

Where is my muse?

Since I have some time off, I've been thinking I ought to write, if not a book then at least some short stories. But honestly, I don't know what to write about. I've been lucky enough to live a pretty ordinary life. I could write about being a mom, but it's been done to death. I could write about my struggles with anxiety and depression, but then we get into how much do I want to reveal. Or I could clean up my NaNoWriMo book from a few years back and try to sell it. I fear, though, that it's inherently a piece of crap. So I'm kind of stuck waiting for my muse.

Harnessing my head

Whenever my son gets sick, my anxiety goes through the roof. It's all been garden-variety illnesses, sure, but it scares me. Last night, with the vomiting, I completely freaked out and got hysterical. I took myself out for a walk to calm myself down. But it made me realize: My anxiety in general is really out of control and has been since the Boo has been born. I feel like a rubber band, about to snap, all the time. Yeah, I am an overthinker, and yeah, I have an anxiety disorder, but it's never been this bad.

So I'm working on it. As they say, I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. I'm at the rock bottom and looking up. I need to exercise, dammit. It also may be time for a meds change. I'm also taking on some self-help mechanisms. All I know is, I have a very busy head. If I could harness that energy and direct it outward, instead of inward, who knows what I could do?

Rocking, Family Guy and collapse

That's the order of putting Boo to bed. I get him in his PJs and change him, rock him in his room until he conks out, and then I head into our room, where M and I watch Family Guy reruns on TBS until I tell him I'm tired and it's time to shut the TV off.

It's nice to have a routine. Boo knows when the chair starts rocking, it's time for sleeping. He's been snoozing six hours at a stretch and occasionally sleeps through the night. We gave him some cereal last night, and he actually ate it. I'm hoping we can continue to get some into him before bed so it fills that little tummy up.

I am very, very anxious. It makes no sense. I think it's related to my PPD, which is much better overall but not 100 percent. Doc gave me some sedatives, but I don't want to take them. I need to start exercising again.

Brain Droppings
Ahh, the title of an off-color book by one of my heroes, George Carlin. (Is anything that man does not off-color?)

Y'know, you anticipate summer all year long. Then it's here and it flies by. It always reminds me of a poem by another one of my heroes, the late great Shel Silverstein:

Here comes summer,
Here comes summer,
Chirping robin, budding rose.
Here comes summer,
Here comes summer,
Gentle showers, summer clothes.
Here comes summer
Here comes summer —
Whoosh — shiver — there it goes.

Fall is really my favorite time of the year. I love fall clothes, fall colors, apple picking, Halloween, crisp air, burning leaves, the show of the New England foliage. There's just something about it that appeals to me. And no one does fall like we do here in these six states in the corner of the country.

Had breakfast with M with an old, old friend this morning. She told me about all the people in HS I couldn't have cared less about that she has stayed in touch with. But we had a great time. I miss having girlfriends.

M ordered me the Lucinda Bassett program, "Attacking Anxiety." Lucinda is yet another one of my heroes. She overcame severe, debilitating panic attacks; agorophobia; and depression to help others, and has developed a program with therapists that helps change the way you think. As an anxiety and depression sufferer since I was eight years old, but with an optimistic, hopeful heart, I really am looking forward to starting the four-month program. I've lost 10 pounds on WW and am trying to lose 15 more; why not work on the inside of me as well? I'll keep you posted.