I woke up at 3:00 am this morning; I had a terrible nightmare. I managed to get another two and a half hours of sleep before I woke up for good around 5:30. At 7:00, I went for a bike ride. It is beautiful out today. I got home at 9:00, showered, and went to the gym at 10:00. It was pretty crowded there so I had to wait a while to get on the machine I wanted and didn't leave until noon.
When I got home, I took a shower and made myself a sandwich. I then took a long, long nap and tried to think about tomorrow, when today will be yesterday.
I woke up around 2:00 and started to get ready for dinner, trying on every dress I own to find the one that would best cover up all the stress-eating that is likely to occur. I decided on a purple one that I bought last January in Paris (without the belt) and tied my lucky red bandana in my hair.
It was 2:45. I went downstairs to take some Advil. My mother asked me to help her with some cooking so I did. Around 3:15 she told me that my dad would be here any minute and I should take that silly bandana out of my hair. I laughed. She was serious.
I went upstairs, found my way to my bathroom floor, and sat down. I looked up in the mirror at the bandana in my hair, grabbed my nearby Wilco scarf and clenched it in hopes of fighting back tears. It didn't work. It is now 3:39 (my dad is 39 minutes late) and I on my bathroom floor in tears. My stomach feels like a deflating baloon and my hands are shaking so badly that I am relying on autocorrect to guide me threw this blog post. I wrapped my scarf around my ankles to keep them from kicking the cabinet in front of me and I feel more disconnected from my body than ever. I've sweated through my purple dress and I know today is about being thankful and I am but I selfishly cannot get my anxiety-stricken mind to think clearly. This moment, the one I've joked about and assumed was still days away, is here.
And I am scared.
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