In a Nut.

Speaking of 'in a nutshell', this is what I wrote on March 31 while watching the boys at hip-hop and break dance.  I didn't post it, because I didn't want to scare my mother!  (I'd been taking the half doses of St John's Wort for a week by then.)

So.  It's taken the edge off.  Now what?


Who am I without my anxiety?

An empty mellow shell.

Now that I'm not worried about all the things I need to do.

I'm bored.

Who am I without my anxiety?

Taxi driver, dish washer, laundry lady, fast order cook, schedule planner, clothes sorter, 8th grade teacher, learning my alphabet for the sixth time, toilet cleaner, nursery rhyme singer.

Does it really matter how many pushups I can do, how long I can hold a plank or how fast I can sprint?

I am only as good as my last workout.

I am only as slim as my last weigh-in.

The endorphins are as fleeting as the anxiety.  Are either real?

Am I only as young as my face cream?

Who am I?  If not this portrait of middle-aged suburban mother of five I have lived myself into?

Sigh.  Who am I?