Happy anxious

So, I’m beginning to feel sort of like I did before I moved back home four years ago, when I was absolutely miserable and anxious and scared and calling my mom to sob into the telephone almost every. single. morning.  

Because of that, whenever Abby hears me so much as sigh loudly, she slinks out of the room as quietly and as low to the floor as she can.  I traumatized my dog and now she hides if she thinks I am crying.  Nice. 

This time though?  Happy anxious.  Not miserable, not weeping.  Just again, extremely short of breath, and full of boundless puppy energy in a flitting-from-one-thing-to-another sort of way, in spite of the copious amounts of red wine and “comfort food” I am shoveling down my pie hole eating which is not working and which is actually kind of making me feel sick.  (Red wine, fried eggs and pumpkin flan.  Awesome.)

So, happy anxious.  Though I do still panic about money from time to time and get paranoid that my Love resents me for being such a deadbeat, which he insists is not the case, though he does wish I would clean more since, you know, I’m home all the time.

But I knew this would happen.  Knew that, like Beowulf and Odysseus and Frodo, I’d have to take my own particular hero’s journey to face the dragons of my fears and what not.  (And my Love expects me to clean.  I’m here, every day, bravely facing my personal fires of Mount Doom and he thinks I should be scrubbing the toilet.  Pffff.  Whatever.)

So aside from the cleaning this is exactly where I had hoped that I would be and it has only taken me, what, 8 ½ months?  Yes, it took me that long to let go and allow myself to be here, on the threshold of productively doing What I Want and Making It Happen.

Clearly, to fully purge the Anxious, I will have to do some more letting go and will need more time at home. 

I’m thinking 5 years ought to do it.