Vertigo

I have gnawed my fingernails down to truly pathetic stubs.

I hate that the hands don't lie: I'd rather not admit it, mostly because I'm worried it might be something to worry about, but much of the time, I look around at my world and feel overwhelmed.

No matter how good things are, I find myself worrying. About health, about money, about oil in the ocean, about plastic, about pesticides on my fruit, about the number of miles on my car, about my old friend I've lost touch with, about my cats being overdue for a veterinary appointment, about the bottom drawer of my dresser that's broken because I stuffed it too full of running clothes.  Mostly, I worry about the reality of my carving out a life where I won't have to worry.

The irony!

It's kind of like strapping on a knapsack full of boulders and then diving to the bottom of the ocean in hopes of escaping the water.  It is possible to imagine that there'd be a depth at which it ends- in fact, there is such a depth, but we know better than to believe it can be transcended, no matter the determination with which one pushes against it.  The only way to escape is to drop the weights and turn around.  Beat the vertigo, and get yourself up to the world above for a breath of fresh air.