I hate moving.
I posted this on Facebook quite a bit the last two weeks. Of course, we did have a choice in the matter…somewhat. We didn’t have to move. We had a perfectly decent place to live that kept a roof over our head.
With money the way it is, when we found the opportunity to live somewhere that was $200 less each month, there really was no choice in the matter anymore. Besides, I was sick of waking up to the stink of pot in the hallway. It always made me stick to my stomach. Or hungry…I’m not quite sure.
There really isn’t much point to this blog. I pondered many different subjects to write about just to get myself writing. With my anxiety the way that it is, writing seemed like a decent way to distract myself and forget my woes. This little writer may need to drag her butt to a doctor and get some pills. Yes, drastic measures, but this anxiety is starting to interfere with my daily activities. No amount of yoga can completely control it.
I need some help. I’m willing to admit it.
Imagine never being able to relax: As soon as you get home from work, you instantly begin to worry. You want to sit down and enjoy yourself, but something nags at you. Something tells you that you need to be doing something else. And when you cannot think of it, you get that panicky feeling that something horrible will happen. You need to do something right now, you cannot remember what it is, and something horrible will happen because you forgot.
Man. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so messed up.