Spent the day having the most annoyingly low-key panic attack ever. I realize the low-key bit makes it sound relatively benign, but you try spending the day with your heart racing and what feels like a bowling ball on your chest and let me know how productive you are. Or don’t, since you’ll probably be all yeah, that panic attack was a piece of cake and cranky mama is just a big wuss and then I’ll be sad and feel like a loser. So keep it to yourself.
This all started because I lost my photo album. It’s probably been lost for a while, but I only realized it was lost today, when I tore apart the house looking for it. It’s like the best-of photo album, the one with all my favorite pictures of all time (I started it in high school and we all know how long ago that was). How is it that I still have things like my old keychain with the (admittedly very cool) X-Files keyring but not my photo album? Not So insists that it’s got to be here somewhere but I of course am convinced it’s gone forever and all is lost. That’s why they call it an anxiety disorder, folks.
In other news, I miss people.