I was in the kitchen, and I heard it...so I came out.

I was just sitting at my dining room table sorting through some old receipts after thoroughly lecturing myself on the importance of budgeting one's money, when I saw my planner sitting on the table.

I opened it up and started writing things in it, then got very sad that I have relatively few things to write in it these days, at least compared to when I was in school. And I automatically was caught in a weak grip of panic, but instead of surrendering I asked myself, "Why don't you enjoy this freedom? Go ahead. Yep. You...there you go."

I still have a bit of a sour feeling in my stomach, but I'm used to it.

This morning as I was leaving my house I caught a whiff of my shared hallway, and it's a smell that I recognized from moving into the place. The other day I cleaned my carpet with the same solution I used when I shampooed my sofa upon arrival in the Twin Cities. Where is the crazy sniffer lady going with this? Both of these smells instantly transported me back to the crazed feeling of panic I had when I moved up here, instead this time I was an observer, not a participant. And I actually smiled about it. Look at you, I said. Look at you there, freaking out, with no one in the room to protect you from your own fears, with no one to grab your shoulders and shake you. And guess what. You're still alive. And quite smug about it. Look at you, indeed.

Then I went to work, where I alternately consoled, cajoled, and harassed harried loan officers all day. Oh well. The good with the bad I suppose.


As a sidenote, I sometimes wonder if the world can be boiled down to love and fear, and am wondering if we perhaps combine and/or confuse the two.