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Sometimes I have anxiety which gallops me along at a breakneck speed. It screams disaster, threat, danger, betrayal! Life compress me into a single track that appears (feels) inescapable. I am beaten with a big invisible stick that will not leave me alone. But this isn’t the reality. Of course not.

I try and break the pattern by stopping. Stopping my thoughts – which is maybe the toughest thing I can imagine doing.  But then I can come back into life. Today I worked on fighting the parking ticket (given with the theft of my badges) and making lots of useful phone calls. I managed to finish a few reports and tie up some loose ends with work. Tomorrow I have a trainers review – am intrigued as to what next. All this felt good, productive. And real.

But I am living in multiple compartments as usual. Who knows me really? I am a writer. I observe, I record. I summon up ideas, and the words come. I cannot imagine being anything else. I am impatient to write – always. But this here keeps me fresh. 20 minutes, most days, exercising my writer’s muscle. I want to note more of my life soon. Details, progress.

I have secrets, like currents. Pushing under the aching sea that I contain within. Many would swim into me and this hidden life I have. But I wish now only to stare at the moon, like my Nancy, and remember I am enchanted.

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