High Anxiety

I went back to bed around 3 or so. Didn't wake up until 8:45. I thought it was Sunday morning. It's Tuesday.

I realized I'd had more nightmares. Guilt-fueled, for sure. The D was out walking in a field. I was close enough to see him, but still quite a distance away. He fell. Hit his head on a manhole cover and flipped over backwards - a somersault. He was lying there, lifeless. I was trying to scream to him, but no sound came out. I ran to him.

When I got there, he was coming to. I did my quick neuro exam. Asked him his name, where we were, who I was, etc. He failed. I tried to call 911 but hit 411 instead. I tried 911 again and I got the hospital's maintenance department. I was in a panic. I looked around and realized that we were just outside Baptist Hospital. Some docs were leaving and I begged them to help me. To call an ambulance for me. They didn't have their phones. Said not to worry. The D would be fine. They seemed annoyed that I'd dare bother them with trifles, and headed on their way. Then I realized that we were very close to the emergency room. So I helped The D to his feet and we stumbled over there.

Turns out that his blood pressure had gone through the roof - 380 or something crazy - but miraculously, he hadn't stroked out. I took him home and the ER docs came to check him later. My house was full of random people. It turned out there was an extra bedroom I hadn't known about. I thought it was a closet door in my bedroom. When I walked into it, there was a foot of water in it. The plumber was there. Said it was a structural thing and would take major work.

When the docs had done their thing, they gave me the discharge papers. Right at the top in the comments box, they'd written that my house was dirty and unfit. I tried to explain that it was messy, but not dirty. It was clean. I told them about the move, my tax deadline and the fact that if my bitch-from-hell older sister got her hands on their report, it would be bad. For The Daddler. And me. They didn't care.

I woke up. Relieved that it was just a dream. Disappointed that it was Tuesday and not Sunday. Full of angst, guilt, fear. You name it. If there was a negative emotion, I had it.

I drug myself out of bed. Kiddo and Daddler were already up. We passed each other without speaking. I was wiped out. I handled a couple client emails. Realized the deposit I'd made yesterday hadn't hit the bank account. Major stress. Hopefully it'll be there tomorrow. Also realized I had some checks to mail. Should've done that yesterday.

Now I'm sitting here, writing this stupid blog post. I spend too much time here, but I justify it by calling it therapy. Is there a balm in Gilead for my soul? I hope the answer isn't "nevermore." Damn, it's bad when I'm feeling like a Poe character.

I'm in my running shorts. I'm gonna hit the pavement. And hope that helps.