The car is in the shop today. The problem is expensive.
And the plumber came by the house this afternoon and the two-year-old bullshit thing on top of my water heater is fucked. As is the 60 year old bullshit thing in the crawlspace. And my crawlspace has a glacier. A glacier, people! You want to see a river of ice? Fuck going clear to Canada. Just go stare in my crawlspace.
To get that shit fixed? More than the car.
You know that feeling when you’re just cresting the hill on the roller coaster and your stomach goes up to your throat and your head goaes all woozy and you just have to wait to hit bottom, because there’s no getting out of it?
That’s how I feel.
As I was falling asleep, I dreamed I walked into a room and there was Mary. The Mary. Jesus’ mom. And I was like “weird,” because I was raised Methodist and, except for briefly at Christmas, when we go on and on about how young she was, we don’t give a shit about Mary.
And, in my dream, I was like “You? But I don’t even know you,” and she was like, “I know, but you don’t really have any other concrete ideas about what a goddess might be like.” Which, fair enough, Mary. “But you can go into that room and see what you’re afraid of or you can go outside and see what you’re afraid of.”
I went outside. But that’s neither here nor there to the point of this retelling. I’m not stressed. That’s a weasel word for what I’m feeling. I’m afraid. I’m afraid my car is going to cost me a million dollars. I’m afraid the plumber is going to cost me a million dollars.. I’m afraid things aren’t going to work out how I’d like them to. And, god damn, I am terrified that they are.
But I feel so much better–weirdly enough–knowing that it’s fear.