The Bloody Doors Off

(Author’s Note: This was written earlier this evening when I was balls-deep in… something. I can’t call it a panic attack. But I relayed this to my lovely wife and her simple act of listening lifted any fears I had for my sanity.)

I am not okay.

I don’t know what adjective I would choose to describe my current state. But ‘okay’ is so far off the map even Columbus couldn’t stumble upon it.

Earlier, in the shower, I couldn’t figure out how I’d missed last night’s Jeopardy.

Because, I said to myself, it’s Thursday and I would’ve watched it to see how Amy Schneider is holding up as current champion.

And then I smacked myself upside the head because.

It was Tuesday.

Only it’s not.

It’s Monday.

And that started a whole spiral. But it wasn’t a panic attack. Not a bout of anxiety.

It was something indescribable. And infinitely scarier.

(And that’s as far as I got.)