I went to a shrink today - been having a few panic symptoms on the edge of my life. Rather than waiting till (or to see if) it gets all huge and center I decided to go have a talk about it.
It was nice seeing him again - it's been two years. Life is good and we chatted. With about 15 minutes to go we spoke of the anxiety. He surmised that maybe I'm ready to put myself out there - writing, painting, school, whatever - and that maybe that frightens me. Makes me quake.
So I am thinking about that. It sure seems trite. SURELY I'm not that trite. Surely not!
Hmmmm. So I will write. And dig out the book and the stories that need revision. And open the blinds in the little studio room. And get the blankets off of the easel.
At least I still have a bottle of Xanax if I need it. :)
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