I am heading back to the office one week from today, 10 days after my second Pfizer dose. I am beyond grateful to be finished and ready to crawl out of my cave. Kind of.
A few days ago, I almost hurt my shoulder by patting myself on the back over how very tranquil I was feeling about going back to the office.
Sure, commuting sucks, but I’ve done this shit for decades now. I’m a pro at cube farming. I am a cubicle-dwelling beast. It’s all good.
I’m pining for that day now.
I’m not quite so tranquil now. I have a tranquility deficit, but I’m making up for that with an added heap of steamy anxiety. My circular thoughts had grown lazy over the past half dozen months or so. It’s not that they left me, but they were less insistent. Sort of like they were floating on a lazy river at a waterpark or something.
Well, now that my reintroduction to being around other humans is imminent, my circular thoughts have snapped to attention.
Go go go go. Let’s move it. Vacation is over sweet britches. You are out of shape. We’ve got some major catching up to do.
It’s not just the circular thoughts. My reaction to easily explained occurrences is ridiculous.
For instance, I expected to hear from my older son over the weekend. I didn’t hear from him Saturday, which is only half the weekend, and started getting a little tense. I called him a few times and texted him. Nothing. I asked Joey if he had talked to his brother and he said that Zach called earlier, but he was asleep and missed the call. It gave me vague comfort. At least, I had solid intel that he was okay until around noon on Saturday.
There are so many reasons this may happen.
He could have been busy. His phone could be dead or lost or in a different room. Perhaps, he just wasn’t in the mood to talk. But is that where my mind went? By Sunday morning, I was fairly certain what happened.
Well, it’s become apparent that it could be only one thing. He’s gone. He’s in a ditch.
I did not voice my fears to Randy or Joey. I was stoic.
I went about my morning and puttered about. I got ingredients together to do some baking. I even looked for a cabin for a little getaway next month.
I doubt you will be ready to travel by then. But maybe it will be for the best.
Later, I got a text from Zach. He was sick as hell from his shot and spent the day in bed.
I literally had to sit on my bed cross-legged and rock back and forth for a good ten minutes while I processed that my son was actually not dead and that my anxiety was truly kicking my ass. I’m not going to lie. I’m still shaky. I have no strength in my arms and my fingers are trembly. I’m having to backspace a lot while typing this.
I’m concerned about how I’m going to fit all the new circular thoughts in with the ones I used to have in the mornings while driving to work. I mean, there is only so much time to think on the commute and if you don’t think about the same thing at least two or three times, do you even have circular thoughts at all?
I’m not sure which of the old thoughts I can give up.
Will it be the Sooner or later, a semi is going to smash you to bits on your way to work, or You’re probably going to fall down in front of people today. It will be spectacular.
I also don’t know how many new thoughts are coming. So far, I have this list:
What if when I go back, no one talks to me?
OMFG, what if they DO talk to me?
I probably look ridiculous now with my unicorn hair. They’re going to laugh at me.
And you care about that why? Let people laugh. I don’t care.
Maybe I could perform my new interpretive dance. I can call it “Fuck off, don’t talk to me” and then I’ll get in a fetal position under my desk, screw my eyes shut and just blindly flip everyone off.
What if I really did get too weird to be around people?
I guess the answer to that last question is: I’ll find out soon enough.
You know, in a week. Or 7 days or 168 hours or 10,080 minutes or 604,800 seconds. Give or take a few minutes.
I also realize I totally fucked that math up because it’s really 8 days from now, not 7. But I’m not going through that exercise again because I’m already dealing with enough and fuck math. Also, if I am completely honest, I didn’t write this on Monday, even though you are reading it on Monday, so it’s more like 9 days from now. Or 8 days and a number of hours. Like I said. I’m not doing any more math.
Well, except I was actually right about the number of days if today were really Monday, then my number of days is correct since I am starting at the beginning of next Monday, not the end of next Monday. I don’t know anymore. Math has pissed me off since 1969.
Also, I have been super shitty about answering comments. Sorry guys. I read them and I cherish them. I am just having a bit of a lethargy issue. Anxiety is so fucking demanding.
I know I am far from the only person dealing with this. I have an amazing family and friends who I love and who love me. We are healthy. I am grateful.
Still, next week is going to be difficult.
This helped. My fingers aren’t trembly anymore. I can take a deep breath.
I’m going to go do some baking and not worry about the next 648,000 seconds. Give or take a few minutes. Or maybe a day. I don’t fucking know. God.