I told my counselor, who I see once a month, in case of emergencies, I wanted to go to yoga more.

My father said, "You never know when things will go south and you will want a counselor in your back pocket to be able to call up and say, 'I need to see you; can you give me an appointment?!'" Okay, so Pops didn't say exactly that, but you understand the drift; I was in counseling because my father said, "Go," and I went. I told my new-ish therapist I want to practice Mindfulness four times a week and I want to go to two yoga classes. I told her for accountability - I wasn't getting there on my own, that was for sure. When I went back to my counselor's office the following month, I had done Mindfulness more - but nothing close to four times a week. I hadn't gone to one yoga class.

While this is going on, the desire to practice Mindfulness and the desire to go to yoga, life at work progressed. I had gone from being the newest employee in the social work department to becoming the second newest. I was moved from the floor I was working on, to NICU and Maternity. I was told, "because I'm so good with people," they thought I would be great working in this specialized area. Okay. I hear all that they were saying and not saying, even if I can't blast it out in a public forum like this. I trained for NICU by going to a sister hospital and learned about Medical Asstistance applications and how to get a hospital grade breast pump delivered to a mother's door when her child is in the NICU. I learned about the forms needed for an adoption. I learned about enough to scratch the surface and go back to "my" hospital and start putting it into practice.

Two weeks ago, we had an admit of a very tiny baby. Nurses, doctors, and unit secretaries said this situation would not turn out well. It would just be a matter of time.

Add this to other life stressors and on Monday of last week, going into work, I was light-headed, dizzy, and nauseated. It didn't come to me until Tuesday morning I was having panic attacks. I woke up on Tuesday and started to count my breaths, getting to twenty. I lost my train of thought in the middle, and had to come back somewhere around 9. After I finished the 20 breaths, I felt significantly better. I got up, wet my hair (I go to bed with wet hair - showering at night saves getting ready time in the morning), put on makeup, got dressed, and trounced off to work, listening to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. On some deeper level, I decided if I'm going to make it through, I have to go back to doing things like I was doing when I first started the new job in September. I have been rolling essential oils along the soles of my feet to stave off panic (and for the record it's working). I also signed up for yoga on Tuesday and Thursday, at a yoga studio in the town about seven blocks away -- close enough to walk to the yoga studio.

On Tuesday night I arrived at the studio feeling a bit silly and a little worried I would sob my eyes out. I brought the yoga mat and carrier that I got at an estate sale for $3. I set up in the back and followed the instructor through the routine. The instructor openly stated that she is a new instructor and has only been teaching yoga to her family who yell back at her. And to be honest, there were times I wanted to say, "Um, the breath? Where is the breath?" or "Can you go a little slower, I'm not sure I understand." I wanted more precise directions, more precise steps to get into position or what the position should feel like when I'm there. My downward facing dog - my heels - they don't touch the ground. Is this a problem? My cat cowl curved up and then in from table, when do you breathe in? Is that on the curl in or on stretch up where you drop your belly down and face your face to the ceiling? And woah, can you slow down a little. What? Where does the left leg go? What about the feet? Where do the toes face? Isn't this a Basics and Beyond class? Where are the instructions? I found myself not feeling calm, unless I made myself relax and just be in the class, as much as possible. Just let it all roll and roll and catch the movement as much as I can. Don't judge me and maybe judge the instruction - especially because she pronounces "exhale" (and "inhale" by default) as ex-haul.

It was a darn good thing I forced myself into the yoga class on Tuesday night. I knew why I had to be there. I knew the baby was being taken off the ventilator on Wednesday. It was. And as the NICU social worker, it is my role to be present with the family as the family faces whatever comes. The chaplain, nurse, and I found comfort in my favorite form of coping in impossible situations, joking. I asked the nurse at one point, "Did you take photos of that?" and the nurse gave me a whithering stare and said, "NO. I missed the moment completely." And we were off. Only, no matter the joking on the side, no matter how light you try to make it, there is nothing light about helping a family escort a 22 week baby to the other side consciousness. There is nothing light about the tears and heart-ache, and grief that cripple. I found myself lightheaded and nauseated. I found myself having to step out as we were waiting for the heartbeat to soften. I had to go find a space and pull myself back into a moment not so charged. Not so intense. I had to go breathe before I could go back and continue to support the family. The Chaplain looked at me at one point and said, "Do you think you're the first Social Worker I have had support. You aren't." I walked away from Wednesday with a new love for people, especially the Chaplain and a new appreciation for the amount of emotional grief one person can endure.

Thursday I went back for "Gentle Yoga." I wanted to hide in the far back corner, but found the closer I got to the wall, the colder it became over there. So, I came to close wall and set up there. The instructor, again, hauled through the instructions and I wanted to say, "Isn't this Gentle Yoga?" Only, again, I didn't. I just followed along and smiled to myself as "Nothing Compares to You" and that song --- you know that song, the song that plays when Chase Utley comes up to bat --- that song.... It's a ... Led Zeppelin song.... Kashmir. How is that "GENTLE" yoga? But as I got used to the instructors style and her way of doing things, except for where she was on her phone and not walking around correcting peoople's poses, I felt she was okay. Okay enough to take a class with her again? That I'm not sure. But enough to get me into a place of more peace, a place where I felt my breath meet my body and release it just a little. I will say I'm excited there will be a teacher teaching Yin Yoga (my favorite!!) on Thursday nights in the future. I will be there this upcoming Thursday to find out what this new instructor has to say about Yin and Yoga and how to make space for the breath.

I went to work on Friday and felt a little bit more like, "I got this."

Sick babies are hard. I think I will have to spend time journaling these next couple of months. This new job is stretching me and growing me and expanding me in ways I have not yet been pushed to grow. For that and for so many other things I am grateful. One of the many things about this assignment that makes me grateful is I get to do social work, actual social - social work, and not just discharge planning. I attend to the whole person while the docs cope with the physical frame. And that is why I got into social work in the first place.

So, I got up this morning, went to the bathroom, spread some moisturizer on my face, put on a sports' bra, a flowy shirt, a pair of wide legged athletic pants and went out the door at 8.45am. I got in my car and drove the back roads to Wayne, PA listening to Eligible, a modern retelling of Pride and Prejudice by Curtis Sittenfield. (Some spoilers, Charles Bingley in the original is called Chip Bingley; Liz is asking for 1.1 million dollars for her parents home in Cincinnati, and is selling it with barely their blessing; Lydia is dating a croff-fit trainer; Liz is dating the Wickham character, and has been friends with him for years; Lady Katherine DeBurgh has been mentioned already, and she refuses to give Liz an audience for an article she's writing; and there's a whole lot more mention to sex, in fact, Ms. Austen would be blushing at how naked some of the characters are with each other.) I didn't grab breakfast here at the ranch, so I thought I would stop at a WaWa along the way -- only, surprisingly, there wasn't one. So, just blocks from the yoga studio, I stopped at a Panera. I reached into my ridiculously huge bag and found I had left my wallet at home. I took it out of my bag and brought it to see the Captain America movie last night, and didn't drop it back in my back when we got back at 1.30am. So, I used the little bit of money I keep in the car for emergencies and for an Earl Grey tea with 2% milk and a packet of sugar in the raw and a ham, egg and cheese sandwich. I took three bites of the sandwich only, thinking, "Do I want to put all this food in my body only to go work out?"

I left the sandwich in the car and parked in an open space right in front of the studio. I went in and was about 3 minutes late for the Yin and Flow class that had already started. The man behind the desk asked me to sign in and fill out a newbie-form. He told me to grab a mat and I filled my water bottle and headed into class.

Everyone was lying down on their mats with bolsters and foam blocks supporting their heads and upper backs. I took a spot in the back of the room, only to realize once we were situated in and moving through positions I had positioned myself right behind a pillar. Everyone seemed to know what to do. The instructor in front would say, "Hook your thumbs, bring your hands up, arch your back, bring yourself forward in this position and then move to this position and that position." I felt like I had entered a foreign country and people all knew the rules, but I had no idea what was what. I looked around and everyone was in tight pants. They all had on tight fitting athletic tops. They had big pillows and blankets. They had towels and I was sure their mats were their own. I had to watch everyone to see what they were doing -- move that leg forward, kick that up, move this over, shift your hips this way and then that way. I had to watch them and listen to the instructor carefully and thought back to when I was little and all the kids seemed to know what to do when teachers were transitioning the class from one activity to another and I was so absorbed in what I was doing or thinking, I didn't hear the instructions and had to follow everyone else's movements, not sure of what was expected of me.

The room was warm and I eventually got to thinking, "Is this bikram yoga -- hot yoga? It's so warm in here." Turns out, no, hot yoga is even hotter. This room was set at 90 degrees and hot yoga is about fifteen degrees hotter than that. The instructor was a petite, white woman with a set of serious of dread locks. When she came over at one point to walk me through the flow sequence that the room was doing in silence (more on that in a moment) I noticed there appeared to be yellow glass beads around the thinner of her blond dreads, which made them even cooler. She was wearing a white cabled knit hat with a pompom, which felt weird to me since it was 90 degrees. She had an intricate emerald ring, multiple beaded bracelets, and a lotus flower hemp colored tattoo on her back.

The instructor told me where to find a bolster of my own for the Yin part of the session. I went, got one and a blanket and came back to the borrowed mat (which I kept thinking about germs while lying on...). I then curled into the position: I was prone on my belly, using the bolster to hold up my head and arms, my front leg bent and tucked under me, my back leg straight, with my knee on the blanket for cushioning. My belly, which is bigger than it has ever been in my life, rested on my bent leg's foot in a weird way. It was weird to feel my belly flab resting on my foot and I started to seriously judge myself. I judged my clothes, unlike anyone else's there. I judged my flab, more than anyone else's there. I judged my hair, which is short and the rain made poof out in all directions, not to mention my own sweat making it poof everywhere.

Until I would catch myself judging myself. I would look at the harsh words my brain was saying to myself and I would breathe into my belly, out my mouth. I would think, "You are here to learn and explore. You are here to find out about you, not to be cruel to you." I when I relaxed into the positions, without any thought other than to feel the stretch and the challenge, that was when the tears would start to flow. At first, especially in the Yin section, I fought the tears.

When we moved to the Flow portion of the class, I found the movements quick and I had think about what I was doing all the time. Not once did my body have any bit of muscle memory to help me remember what I was supposed to be doing in the Flow portion of the class. I was constantly watching what other people were doing and when I understood the downward dog to the plank to the something and then to the cobra (I think), when I did that once smoothly I had a little celebration in my head for getting the movements correct. When the instructor said she was going to let us go and let us do the Sun Salutation pattern on our own, I felt myself getting very scared. I had no idea what was expected and I had no idea how to repeat the movements on my own. I was so relieved when the instructor came over and walked me through them personally.

So there was one moment in the middle of the Flow portion that I did curl up in Child's Pose, with my head on the mat, and cried. The instructor came over and asked if I was okay. She gave me tissues, when she saw me wipe my face with hand and my shirt. Of course she had no idea what was up with me. No way she could know. I nodded to her I was fine, this is my thing. I come to yoga class and curl up to cry. Only, it wasn't all class. I got myself up and into Warrior 1. I think I said to myself, "Do this with tears. Do this as you are, where you are, with the best that you can give at this moment."

In the Yin part of the class, when people where sitting in positions and feeling the stretch deep within, the instructor read a line from Max Lucado. I was getting a block or two when she said she was going to read a Max Lucado quote and I thought, "Oh, God, not Max Lucado." I have tried to read his books, I have. I have tried to 'get into' him, at least when I was a Christian and I thought it would do me good to read him. Friends of mine read him and loved him. I wanted to too. Only, never once. I had a couple of his books and every time, it was no good. So, she read this line of his about how you might want to get out of what is about to happen, you might want to avoid whatever it is you are being asked to walk through, but what this new 'adventure' is going to bring, will bring you to a place in your life you won't be able to get to without going through it. And I thought, "And that's the reason I went through Hodgkin's and chemo, because who I am now is not the same as before."

At the end, my favorite pose is there lie there as though dead pose. I love that one. In that one, there were tears streaming down my temples into my hair.

I come back to the idea, throughout my life, it might be sloppy, it might not be perfect, you might be a blubbering mess, you might not say it eloquently and you might offend - but at lease you attempted, at least you tried, at least you put yourself out there. I would rather fail trying than to not try at all. And I will go back in the middle of the week for a Stabilizing class. Maybe on Thursday night, if there is one. I will aim to get there early, to buy a yoga mat and a towel, to buy a package of 20 classes, to fill up my water bottle and to be in class on time. I need to figure this yoga thing out and what about it makes me weep.

I need to do this for me. I need to do this for my body. It's weird to think I need yoga in my life. I know I need mindfulness. I think it makes sense that I need a body practice as well as a mind practice.

A couple of weeks ago, one of my supervisors, an LCSW who is supervising me to be able to earn my LCSW (which I am just a month away for applying for, WEE!), confronted me on my lack of "joining in." It was a short week. It was right after Easter Monday, a holiday given to people who work for Catholic Institutions (which don't get me started on -- I have much to say about working for Catholic Institutions). 

In supervision that day with Dr. G, she said, "I don't think you get to say you have too much to do, so you can't come to the yoga I scheduled. If you were someone else, someone I had to track down for notes or someone I had to worry about doing their job, then I would say, 'Yes stay in and do what you need to,' but this is you I'm talking to. You are on top of everything and you need to learn how to learn to let some stuff go. You need to learn how to walk away on a Friday and say, 'That just isn't going to get done.' And since you need practice doing that, I want you at Self-Care Friday's yoga event at 2."

And that is how I felt I was given a directive to be there.

Later, Dr. G said she didn't mean to make me feel like I had been given a directive - but there is the nature of the power differentials in job titles and positions....

So, at 1.55pm that Friday, I was walking across the lush green courtyard field to the stuffy All-Purpose Room (affectionately called the APR), to attend a yoga class I was resenting. I had a blue travel mat under one arm and I was wearing some stretchy long black pants. I wondered if I would wind up sweating in my Victoria Secret bra, as I wasn't wearing a sports bra. However, being there was more of a priority than to be wearing the right outfit.

I walked into the APR and there were a number of mats set up and all of them had a cute blue block at their head. There was some open carpet at the back of the room or there were open mats near the front. I moved some stuff out of the way and set up in the back. Already feeling vulnerable with all that's going on with my body since chemotherapy and my Hodgkin's diagnosis over five years ago now (which really is not a big deal -- I have neuropathy in my right leg and I'm just generally out of shape). But, the truth is, I don't really trust my right leg and the idea of doing tree pose on it made me afraid I would topple right over. I didn't want to be in the front of the room when I thudded to the ground, so the whole room could watch the slow lean to the right and then the collapse followed swiftly by the sound of my body hitting the ground. I would rather have the sound hit their ears and have them turn around, look at my prone form on the ground, and have them only imagine how it happened. I would rather them not have the image of the slow collapse in their brains forever. So, I made room in the back and assured all of them, for many asked, that "no really, it's good for me to be back here."

I've been to one other yoga class before, almost a decade ago. I was cocky and sure I had all of the poses perfect. The perfectionist in me came out in weird competitive ways and I never went back. The Friday yoga class arranged by Dr. G., I knew, would be nothing like that, because through Hodgkins I have learned I am far from perfect and my body is not the body I used to own.

To start the instructor talked, gave an overview and stated anything we don't feel up to, she will give modifications for. She asked who had done yoga before and she asked those of us (me included) what our practice was. I said I had done Yin Yoga before, in my living room during graduate school, watching Cameron Gilley videos on my computer. She said this wouldn't be Yin, in that we wouldn't be getting into poses and holding them for minutes, but this would be a beginner class and I would be able to see a bit of the slow style if I looked hard.

And she was right. She would have us move from pose to pose, mountain to tree to Warrior One or Two, I honestly don't remember the combinations, but she would have us hold the pose for thirty seconds to a minute. Go from Cobra to something where your stomach wasn't on the ground, to downward dog to something that expanded the hips and the rib cage. And that was when the tears started. When my body was open and my breath was deep. I was standing and moving and doing whatever she was asking, and tears were welling up in my eyes.  Only there was no reason for them.

In my true Kim Beam fashion, I powered through. I acknowledged I was crying, allowed myself to breathe through the tears, and found myself continuing the practice tear free.  Only, that wasn't completely true.

At some point in the midst of the standing poses, I was weeping. Tears were streaming down my face. I couldn't wrap one leg over the other and twist my arms together, as much as I wanted to. I couldn't keep my balance for the tears streaming down my cheeks. Instead of trying to stand with my legs wrapped around themselves, I unwrapped my arms and sat, with my knees up to chin and my ankles still crossed at the base of my bum.

I brought one hand up to my face, just under my nose, and I silently wept, my eyes shut and all these other colleagues doing yoga around me.

After some time, one of my good friends came and put her arm around me. I didn't see her coming. She was just there.

"You're supposed to be doing yoga," I said.

"I got distracted," she replied. "My good friend is not okay and that is more important to me."

"My body is stupid," I replied. "I have no idea why I am crying."

"That's okay," she said and she sat with me as I continued to weep.

I cried for the rest of the yoga practice. To which I said to her, "I think I need to do more yoga," even though I ws sitting and not yog-ing. I was crying, not stretching and breathing and holding poses.

After the yoga event ended, which I was sad to see end, in that I didn't really do yoga. But I was also glad, for I was ashamed. I felt shame for not being able to get over my tears. I felt shame for having sat in the back and cried. I felt uncomfortable with not knowing why I was even crying.

I wanted to go to my office, do my last bit of work for the day and then leave. Only, my friends convinced me to go with them across the street to the farm to feed cows, goats and alpaca carrots. This was better than weeping in yoga and doing paperwork. Cows tongues are weird. Alpacas rock the planet. Donkeys come when I call, "Hey, ass! Come here!" My friends called the donkeys; the donkeys ignored them. I called the donkeys, and they ran to me. So did the goats, but the goats wanted food.  All goats want food.

In supervision on Monday, Dr. G said, "So, crying in yoga?  It's normal, you know."

I said, "I was talking to my boyfriend on Friday night about it. I still don't understand it. I don't get it at all. The only thing I can think of, as I was telling Thom, was I think as I was moving around and opening myself up and breathing into parts of me, there's a part of me that crawled in some dark space, curled up in a ball, and waited out the storm of chemo. Then, I was doing yoga and breathing into dark places and that part of me was touched for the first time, maybe ever or maybe since it curled up in chemo, and I started to cry, that part of me started to cry. And as I told this to Thom, I wept. I think I need to do more yoga."

Dr. G nodded her head and said, "I think you do.  Crying in yoga is normal, you know." She went on to explain it happens all the time. She said the instructor called her once with a story about how the instructor was taking a class and had to sit and weep through the class. Dr. G said she has had yoga classes where she has wept.  "It's normal."

And I said, "I think I need to explore this part of me and find out what's what in there."

"I agree," Dr. G said. She talked to me about beginner yoga and how you can get discounts. She agreed classes are expensive and how our budgets are tight. She said, "Figure it out and let me know what's going on."

That was over a month ago, I think. Fast forward to this past weekend. I have an on-call position in a location I love. It's a great part-time job, only it gets me out of bed at 3.30am or whatever time they call; I have to drop everything and head into work -- the beauty of being "on-call."  So, I found myself at 6.45am sitting in a chair at the on-call position, waiting for labs to come back and waiting for approval from another agency. As I waited, I was reading a Mindful magazine I had in my bag. I am way, way behind on my magazine reading and this was a great chance to catch up.

I was reading an article on how to drive Mindfully and decided to rip it out to share with the angry drivers in my life. I read the blurb at the bottom and found out the author has a yoga studio in Philadelphia. I looked her up and found out she runs a yoga studio in Wayne called Verge. Tucking that bit of info into my head, I went along my ridiculously early morning and did what I needed to in order to leave my on-call job and go back to sleep.

Today, I was thinking about making taking a yoga class on Friday. I have off on Friday and I have off on Monday. I haven't taken a day of my own since the time between Christmas and New Year's.  Plus, I'm on call again this weekend. It's Wednesday and I haven't recovered from last weekend. Without some time off on Friday and Monday, what will I look like in the middle of next week? So, I thought about signing up for a class at Verge, only I panicked. Almost literally. What if I have another sob-fest in the middle of class? What if I have a total breakdown? What if I sign up to do yoga, only to spend the whole time sitting on my mat with tears streaming down my face as I'm curled forward into my mat in child's pose?

So, I called Verge and the woman at reception said she couldn't hear me. I didn't want to have this vulnerable conversation with just anyone, especially not when I have to yell to be heard, so I asked to talk to an instructor. One called me back. I talked her through what I have written out here. Don't worry - I gave her an edited version. Plus, I talk fast.

She said, "I think it's time for you to come in. We get people who cry all the time. It happens." She assured me it would be a safe place to be. She assured me that Verge can handle this yoga journey, possibly this journey inside myself, that I am about to embark on.

I told her, "I'm normally very strong. I wrote a book that's about to come out about cancer and what I went through. I laugh at myself. I am not weak. I fight and push and strive. This sitting on a mat and weeping -- I don't know who this is."

She said, "When you check in for the class, I'm going to leave you a free pass at the front desk. You totally deserve the chance to find out what's going on in there." She also said, "I want to meet you. I hope we get a chance when you are here on Friday."

I was blown away by her generosity.

I am trepidacious about this Yin and Flow class I'm taking on Friday.  What if I sit on the mat and never move? It means something that I signed up to do this at all, because let's be honest, most of me doesn't want to go into that class and find out just how big the dragon in my belly is, or just how scarred the curled up, hiding ersion of myself is. Does it make a difference that I desperately don't want to go to this class, but that I know I have to? I have to go. I have to face this new thing, this new part of myself that I don't understand.

I was given a directive to go to yoga on a Friday afternoon by one of my bosses. Now, I have to go to yoga this Friday because there is a part of my Kim Beam self that needs to be discovered, let out, and explored.

There has been much going on that I can't write about.  Either it's guy stuff and I don't want to expose individuals and their quirks without their even knowing it -- that feels weird -- or it's work stuff and I really can't write about work stuff here.  So, this is my attempt to talk about the situations I've been in or been around or been affected by of late, an attempt at creating the emotions I've been feeling.  There have been a lot of them of late -- emotions.  Which is good.  But as an old colleague of mine used to say, "All the feels."  All the feels of work and life and hope and disappointment.  All the feels of not feeling safe and protected, or feeling disappointed or joyful.  Those things have been going on in many facets of my life, as they always do; only at the moment, it feels like the burner has been turned up to high.

    "So, on Friday night, after the date, I turned right instead of left out of the parking lot.  I mean, my apartment was left, but I didn't want him following me.  So, I went the wrong way out of the lot."
    "How long did it take you to get home?" Jenny asked.  "You can't just turn around there.  There's a median in the way."
    "Oh, about 20 minutes longer, and he wasn't behind me at all.  I don't know where he was, but it wasn't behind me. Maybe he found some other girl to wrap his octopus arms around and never let go."
    Jenny asked, "How many times did you try to end the night?"
    "About seven, but he kept saying, 'one more kiss,' and never actually stopped shoving his tongue in my mouth." Katelyn paused thinking, then said, "Remember that guy I really liked back in January?  The really hot one?"
    Jenny thought for a second, looking up to the right, then said, "You mean the one who was emotionally unavailable and kept trying to get you to hear what he needed, without hearing what you needed?"
    "Yeah, the one I really liked," Katelyn said.
    Jenny rolled her eyes, but Katelyn kept talking pretending not to see Jenny's commentary.
    "So on Friday night, when he said, 'one more kiss,' and a grabbed my ass, I thought about the last time I saw January Man.  January Man was all set to pull away and leave and I was all, 'one more kiss,' and he didn't want to.  As that guy on Friday night shoved his tongue in my mouth and it was all wet eelly slime, I thought, 'Oh my gosh, did my kiss feel like this to January Man?  Did I put January Man in this totally awkward horrible position he couldn't get out of?'"
    Jenny laughed.  "No way anyone could feel that way about you.  You are beautiful and spunky.  You are amazing.  Besides, if you did make him feel awkward, who cares?  I mean really.  That guy.  All he had were rules and things you could and couldn't do.  If he felt awkward by you having a thought and desire in your brain and body, I say, good.  All he did was make you feel awkward trying to jump through his damn expectations all the time."
    Katelyn pouted for a second and then said, "I know.  I would just hate to think of my kiss as eelly slime.  Or have some guy upset that my smell had rubbed off on him. Friday night?  He lingered all over me. I smelled him as I was driving home.  Ugh.  I even smelled his cologne after I put on my pajamas.  I thought about showering, but I was just too tired and miserable."
    "Who is ever too miserable for a shower?" Jenny asked as the phone on her cubicle desk started to ring.  Jenny picked it up and put it to her ear.  "Bailey, Biddles, Bangesly and Buffertt," she said in a one-breath jingle.  Her eyes widened.  She pointed to phone and mouthed, "Suzette."
    Katelyn stood still and tried to hear the voice on the other end of the phone, but all that she could hear was Biddles in his office barking laughs maniacally into his speaker phone.  Suzette had been out of the office, unexplained, yesterday.  She and her fiance were away for the weekend, at least that was the plan.  But Jenny had gotten a text that said Suzette's fiance hadn't shown up at the restaurant they were supposed to meet and leave from.  That was the last Jenny or Katelyn had heard from her.
    Jenny said, "Wait. What did you just say?"
    She paused, listening and then said, "You got a rape kit done, right?  Tell me you didn't go home and shower. Girls always go home and shower.  Tell me you didn't shower."
    Katelyn stiffened.  "What?"
    Jenny shook her head at Katelyn, though her eyes were huge with fear and surprise.
    Katelyn grabbed a pencil off Jenny's desk and started to smack it into the side wall of Jenny's cubicle, where it made a muted, "thud" every time it hit.  Katelyn also started to shift her weight from her right foot to her left, as she, impatient, waited for Jenny to get off the phone and tell her about Suzette.
    Not soon enough, Jenny hung up the phone and slumped into her chair.
    "You know that back entrance to Sports' we always use?"
    "The one we joke is an alley, but it's not because the kitchen door and the parking lot are right there?"
    "Right."  Jenny stopped talking and put her hand over her mouth.
    Katelyn waited before speaking, but then said, "You are killing me.  You have to tell me."
    "Suzette's fiance, Jon, texted and told her he was running late and just meet him at his apartment.  He would take the train home instead and they would leave whenever he got to his apartment or the next morning if it was too late."  Jenny continued, "So, Suzette went out the back door of Sports and that's when some guy grabbed her, pulled her deeper into the back of the building, you know, where the door to the kitchen is sometimes open?"
    Katelyn nodded.
    "And he tried to rape her.  She ripped out of her jacket, ran for her life.  Screamed once she got out of his arms.  Apparently the guy had her a tight hold that restricted her breathing."
    Katelyn and Jenny were quiet together for a moment.
    "Was she okay?" Katelyn asked.
    "She wasn't raped.  Once she started to yell and run, the guy took off.  She did go to the hospital; Jon made her.  The police took a statement from her and all, but...."  Jenny trailed off.
    "Is she okay?"  Katelyn repeated.
    "Suz is strong," Jenny said.  "She's taking a day or two.  She said she's looking for a counselor, again Jon is insisting."
    "I like that Jon," Katelyn said.  "Where do we find Jons?"
    "We aren't Suz.  We don't just attract fantastic men," Jenny said
    "Well, that guy who attacked her on Friday isn't so fantastic.  But, I get what you're saying.  I attract the weirdos."  Katelyn said.  Then she paused before adding, "You know, that could have been either one of us too?  It could have been any of us.  We all walk out the back door of Sports into that dark area without even a thought at all.  We all do it.  Does Sports know?"
    Jenny said, "Sports says they are going to look into putting lights and video camera back there."
    "Let me guess, Jon called them."
    "Jon went over there," Jenny replied.  "They were so upset.  They said they would get on it and take care of it right away."
    Katelyn said, "I'm not going there until they do."
    "There's the gathering on Thursday night, where that Jonesy, I'm trying to set you up with.  He's going to be there and you don't want to blow this chance," Jenny said.
    "Can't we change the venue?" Katelyn asked.
    "I'll look into it," Jenny said.
    "I'm going to call Suzette later.  See if she needs anything." 
    Katelyn turned but Jenny stopped her by saying, "I feel like all of this is fake.  That it's not real and that this didn't really happen."
    Katelyn said, "I feel numb, but I think I'm going to go to my cubicle and have a good cry.  Then, I'm going to get angry.  Have Biddles and Bangesly stay out of my way today.  I'm in no mood for their power trips and self-inflated importance."
    Jenny raised her eyebrows.
    "I'm assuming that self-inflated importance and power tripping is what makes a guy attack a girl.  Or that guy from Friday night, I really thought I might not be able to get away from him.  He was so controlling.  I know I'm here at work and it's safe, but is it?  Are we ever really safe?" Katelyn asked.
    Jenny said, "I would like to think so."
    Katelyn looked down at her little skirt and flats.  Her dress shirt open to right above her chest and the way the fabric pulled closed over her boobs.  "Am I vulnerable right here where I stand because I have these?" she pointed to her chest.  "Or because I carry around a vagina?"
    Jenny said, "More than half of the population carries around a vagina."
    Katelyn responded, "Less than half of half of the population who carries around a penis thinks they can force it wherever they want.  Most guys don't think or try to or even respect people who force their way into girls.  But, yet, there are guys who do it, which gives all guys a bad rap and makes me think twice about going on another blind date."
    "Right, the likelihood that your on-line date is going to rape you is low. And Suzette's attacker wasn't someone she was meeting.  She just bumped into him."
    Katelyn shook her head, "Don't hide behind that Jen.  Most rapes come from people you know.  Suzette's attack was an anomaly." 
    Jenny breathed in deep.  "So is nowhere safe?"
    "That's what I'm saying," Katelyn said as she continued her walk back her own cubicle on the other end of the pool.

On Tuesday, Sunny, her sister and I went out on the Sammamish River Trail to a kayak station where we rented kayaks. We then hopped in and scooted down river and paddled back up. Sunny was in a kayak made by Emotion and it was called Temptation. Jen (Sunny's sister) and I were in kayaks called Frenzy. It was a good time, but I definitely got swamp butt that didn't dry until I got home and changed out of the skirt and bathing suit bottoms I was wearing.

As we walked back from kayaking, I started to talk a little about my current choice of birth control - the Mirena. Sunny said she knows a number of people who had to get it removed (being an IUD) because of the weight gain it caused, the change in sexual interest and ability to climax. I'm am pudged out to my heaviest weight at the moment, with boobs like I have never had in my life. In doing anecdotal research, these side effects are normal with the Mirena. I would talk about my inability to climax satisfyingly, but feel just mentioning it is enough to make the point. I am thinking about the copper IUD instead - no hormones which is nice. It too can cause bloating and weight gain, but what are my other options? I might discuss a diaphragm with my gyn, but again, I don't know if I want to go into details on that either. I mean, what if you have sex like three days in a row? Can you never take it out? I hear it can also cause urinary track infections. Birth control is such a pain in the ass, but not nearly as much of a pain as having a baby would be.

Sunny's baby is just so cute, but she's still a baby. I appreciate being able to spend time with her, getting to know her. I even got to be with her as she is learning to take her first steps which is way cool to watch. But still. She has dirty diapers that need to be changed (and I've done that occasionally). She screams these ear piercing shrieks that just overwhelm any ability to think.

We're getting up early tomorrow to go camping for the solstice weekend. I have one hope for the weekend and that's to be able to find a rock in a some secluded sunny space, remove my shirt and bra and lie down, letting the rock warm my back and the sun my chest. There will be other events available - a sweat lodge, a campfire tomorrow night, and ...this is Washington state. I don't know if I will partake of legal substances here. It all depends on how I feel and discerning what feels safe to me.

I'm in bed and must turn of this right and sleep. I will double check for typos when I get up. Until then, goodnight!!

I was just waking through the Philly airport making my way to Au Bon Pain to grab some plane food, after checking my bag and making my way through security. I spent most of the day packing. In fact, looking back on it, I can't tell you what I spent most of the day doing. Packing; showering; putting shampoo, conditioner, exfloiant and the like in travel size containers.

I packed in my giant red duffel since we'll be camping out in Seattle and I needed to bring a sleeping mat for under my sleeping bag and the sleeping bag. That took up a ton of room in the bag. There was a time I knew for sure I fit in the duffel, that I could be checked through in the bag. Only now, I don't feel like I would fit.

Anyway, as I was walking along the inner terminal mazes and taking the moving walkways to find plane food, I thought about recent vacations I've taken and most of them have included travel. I don't love planes, nor the anxiety they give me. I don't love airports, crowds of people or lots of noise. What I do love is seeing people I love. I love going to new places and seeing the world. I love these things more than being afraid of my body wigging out from the anxiety travel gives.

I pulled my red duffel out to pack in it and realized as I was about to lug it out to the car that the last time I packed in it was for Alaska, a trip I took with my mom and sister almost 10 years ago. I hefted the bag out to mom's car and decided to open the side pocket to see if there was anything in there. Yup. A luggage tag for the tour we took out there. It brought it into the house and showed it to mom. She thought about how it's been 10 years in the house. I thought about how I used to live on the coast in Massachusetts north of Boston. I don't think about Desmond Ave in Manchester-by-the-Sea very often. But today I did. I lingered on the space I lived in, the smell of salt air as I stepped out the door to go teach for the day, and the way you could walk to the ocean once that teaching day was done.

Ironically, I saw a friend of mine posted that Elizabeth Elliot died. She won't mean much to many people. She was a Christian writer, a woman who married a missionary and her husband was murdered by the men he was trying to introduce to God. After he husband died, Elizabeth and some of the other wives of the murdered missionaries went and lived in the community that killed their husbands. Sort of an insane thing to do, the kind of insane Jesus would do. But I've met Elizabeth Elliot and that woman had some fundamental principles that made me think, "This woman has no idea what love, compassion and grace are."

When I bumped into her, I was on the coast road in Magnolia. I had walked down the rocks to the ocean and had spent a long time staring at the horizon. When my time was done, I walked back up to my car. And there, just about to walk onto the rocks, was Elizabeth Elliot and the man she married later, after the death of her first (and maybe her second) husband.

I said hello to them and her husband smiled and said hello back. She ignored me. I was wearing boy shorts, cargos at that. Not a skirt. I had heard that she didn't talk to any woman who was not wearing a skirt. I asked her, "Have you been writing anything?" She stared at me like she didn't hear me, or didn't understand me, so I babbled on - completely forgetting her skirt rule - "I've read Passion and Purity and you came and spoke at Gordon at the fireside chat. I was there. I was the one who said we should get you to come talk to us."

Still no response from her. Her husband thanked me for being interested with a genuine smile. She sniffed and said, "Of course I'm writing."

When I asked after what she was working on, thinking about exploring with her the world's view versus the Christian view of relationships, intimacy, romance and sex, which was sort of the heart of _Passion and Purity_, she said, "I don't share my writing with just anyone. That's private."

Looking back on that conversation, I know a couple of people who would take that harsh tone with a curious reader. But for me, true genuine interest in my writing on the part of a complete stranger would make me feel honored, touched and, even if I didn't want to go into details, I would certainly be gracious and give some superficial response. This woman who went into the jungle as a young mom to live with the people who slaughtered her husband and father of her children was cold to me - because I was wearing shorts.

Which makes me think of a conversation I had on Saturday night with a guy. To be honest, I can't stop thinking about the guy, but I won't get into that here - as I rarely talk about my current heart thoughts in this space. This space could expose another person without their consent. There are things that should be private and I rarely talk about love-interests with those I live with; it wouldn't be right to put those thoughts here. So, if that's my "rule," the fact that I'm saying this guy is pretty great in this space, before I even really tell him, he's got to have left a pretty amazing first impression.

Anyway! He and I got to talking about writing. I didn't talk about my current book, the one I'm procrastinating on hard-core. I know I have to work on it, but to work on it means I have to dive into a part of my history I would like to forget for the moment. I have too many other anxiety producing traumatic events to cope with in my life without diving into my traumatic anxiety producing past/writing. Instead I talked about my Tom Robbins/Douglas Adams-esque story line. He talked about the trilogy in his head. He said that Stephen King works on as many books as he is interested in at one time. It allows him to work on what is hot and doesn't force him to procrastinate on all of his writing when one piece isn't working for him. Which makes me think - perhaps I should. Perhaps I should start the zany work and let the cancer story ride around in the background for a little while. Besides, my last editor gave me some feedback I don't have an answer to. Maybe I have to write out the chapter/answer in order to come to some sort of satisfying resolution for myself and the reader. Maybe. But I would rather start a story about a prescient barista. That is way more fun at the current moment, at least.

I would love to tell you that my world is full of glitter, lava lamps, glowing yellow sunsets on a beautiful rocky shoreline and ...hope, but I fear that is not the case. I do have a lovely sunset from this view, but that is all. I'm okay with a lack of hope. As a friend and I were talking about on FB recently, hope hurts. I really don't know if hope is worth all of the hype.

I left work today feeling a bit like a cross between Piglet and the Tazmanian Devil tonight. I hopped in Watson, turned on Waze and made my way down here to Ellicott City for a Shakespeare play. I'm meeting two former students for the production. I am currently sitting in my trunk - the hatchback open, my knee kicked over the side and the sun about to dip behind the trees in front of me. "Who Can It Be Now?" is playing somewhere off to the right, from the direction I am sitting in. And a girl walking through the parking lot near me just said, "Four out of five voices in my head said 'Go for it.'"

I've found myself weepy the past couple of days. I was in tears on Monday sitting at my desk. One of the knitters told me to go to the guild meeting, so I did. I found myself jealous of all of the time they seem to have to knit. I don't have time like that anymore now that classes are over. I can't knit in sessions with my clients. Maybe one day if I ever lead cancer survivorship/struggle groups I will be able to knit in session.

It's going to be a 2 hour ride home after this play. I'm not looking forward to that and I think that means I won't get home until one. I have Tyrion Lannister in chains in book 5 at the moment - not to give too much away for the non-book readers - to keep me company on the way home.

The student-friends just arrived, honked their horn, which made me flinch, hit my head on the ceiling and rubbed it in a little pain. Then there were much giggles in their car, even with the windows closed!

Off to A Comedy of Errors!

I had some errands to run yesterday. I needed to grab some stuff to make a fruit salad for today and I also had to get a tomato pie for Jena's graduation party last night. That's when I was told to go to the Farmer's Market in Ardmore right next to the Trader Joe's. There was a DiBruno Brothers in there and they would be the people to get a tomato pie from.

So I wandered in and was immediately slammed with so much to see! I ordered the pie and then got some American and Swiss cheese. While I waited for the pie to come out, I had a bit of a wander about.

There was a Capital Tea. Oh my gosh did things smell good there! I'm in love with by Jasmine Green Tea. I haven't been drinking so much of it since being on Prozac. Prozac and caffeine would kick me into an anxiety attack. I remember one day in a 9.00am class, I didn't decaf my tea well and break couldn't come fast enough. I felt so crappy and shakey and sure I was going to lose it right there in front of everyone. That's about the time I switched at only decaf tea. Which made me say goodbye to the Jasmine Green and the oolongs - it's hard to find them in decaf and when you do, they have to be mail order which can be pricey. So, I'm off Prozac and back on Jasmine tea. Yesh!!! I picked up some good stuff in Whole Foods for less than my arm and leg would cost on the black market. I'm quite content with it. But yesterday at Capital Teas, I found this:

You read that right - $100.00 for four ounces. Want to know what's really sick about this? Part of me is fascinated about how it would taste. It's got to be really good to be $100 for four ounces or $200 for eight ounces. One mug, that's all I'm asking for. But this makes me think of my dad and how he turned down a chance to drive a Porche, Ferrari or something of that caliber. He said he really enjoys driving his VW, at the time. He liked how it handled and all. He didn't want to mess with that by knowing how one of those cars in that other class of car handled. He liked his car and he didn't want to lament what he was already quite happy with. If I'm happy with my run-of-the-mill Jasmine, what will one mug of this sooped-out-fancier-than-fancy-pants Jasmine make me think of my every day cuppa?

Speaking of everyday cuppas. I broke my sock monkey mug about three weeks ago now. It was a sad sad sad day when that happened. I'm thinking about replacing it with this - also at Capital Teas:

Okay here are a bunch of other things at the Farmer's Market that caught my eye.

After wandering about, I went to Trader Joe's to get fruit while waiting for my tomato pie. I got all my favorites for the fruit salad - white flesh nectarines, blackberries, raspberries, strawberries and fresh cherries. Since they didn't have a cherry pitter at Whole Foods, once I checked out and put my groceries in the car, I walked down three stores to Kitchen Kapers. There I had a whole other adventure. I did get a cherry pitter (that is amazing - how have I lived without one of these before?) and I got two different types of strawberry hullers. There were other things to be seen at Kitchen Kapers.

And the vote on the tomato pie? I found it interesting, with its chunks of celery and tomato. Quite yummy. Other people around me were sayin it wasn't as good as the pie they always buy. I didn't look to see how much was left when I went to leave. I didn't want to be disappointed that people didn't like it.

Went to IKEA after counseling this evening. I wanted to get a kinda inexpensive not-so-down comforter for the summer. I found it and then continued the journey through the labyrinth of the marketplace.

I wanted a lamp for my office. I want a full-spectrum light. Or rather a lamp that holds a full spectrum bulb. Who knows what IKEA bulbs are. My adventure in the lamp department went something like:

Oh! That's cute, but I don't think it's bright enough. Many of these are nice, but which have the brightest bulbs? Oh! That seems lovely and bright. What bulb is that? It's an E26 600-something. Great! Which of these lamps take this great bulb? Oh - only those ugly ones right there. Is that it? No - that cute one might. Do you, with the sort of branches, take this bulb I have in my hand? Well, you do - sort of. You take an E26, but it's an E26 400-something. Not 600. Bummer. Now, this E26 600 - is this full spectrum? The packaging only talks about all the electricity money I'll save if I use it. That's great, but doesn't answer my spectrum issue. Oh look! A computer where I leave a comment. I'll do that! Type in my comment, fill in the demographic material, hit submit. Look! There's a survey here too! I'll take that while I'm at it. On page four of four it won't let me finish because of the way the screen is set up. Do I leave a comment about how crappy their survey is? No - walk away from the lamp department and go back to that great aubergine carpet. It will be so great and perfect in my office. I will find a lamp another day - perhaps in an official lighting store. Hmmm I wonder where one of those exists, besides next to the Burger King on 213 in Elkton, MD, just down the road from Lemen's house.

After leaving the lamps and picking up the carpet, I went to check out. In line there were impulsive deals - 3 large chocolate bars for 2.49 or so, a large bag of Swedish fish for about the same price.

I wound up making it to the food court area just before closing. I thought about getting some pear cider, which I love hard, but this was ... Soft? What is the word for non-alcoholic cider? Anyway, I wandered through the food market and thought, gosh the Swedes are weird. What really made me think that was this:

And this:

And this:

I wound up getting a hot dog and a vanilla soft serve frozen yogurt in a wafer cone (my favorite kind of cone!) for my post dinner dinner. I grabbed dinner at work - overly buttered egg noddles with not quite spaghetti sauce that probably came from a can. It was in a small bowl and was probably about a cup of spaghetti. When I saw the hot dog and yogurt, I was a goner. As it was, I got the "dinner" and a bar of dark chocolate with 70% cocoa for like $3.50 total. It's kinda sad when you think an IKEA hot dog and yogurt is better than a kitchen prepared dinner where one works. And the work dinner was free! What can you say about free? I'm sure it's something like gift horses.

I know I'm supposed to think New York City is amazing. I mean, I suppose it is. So much going on and all the different neighborhoods. It is a wondrous place. I, personally, find it a little overwhelming. Maybe if I knew it better. Maybe if I drove around in it like I have in Philly, it wouldn't be so overwhelming. But the truth is, I haven't figured out Philly and how everything connects. I still at times get overwhelmed in Philly and Philly is a different animal completely from New York City.

Yesterday a small herd of us, my knitting friends and I, went to NYC to do a yarn crawl. My friends at work found that hysterical on a number of levels. 1. Who crawls from yarn shop to yarn shop - with little to no alcohol involved. 2. We didn't walk from shop to shop, but taxied it up. (And Uber, which I was just introduced to.)

We got on a train (late) in Hamilton, N.J. and arrived at NY Penn Station (not to be confused with Newark, NJ's Penn Station). We exited Madison Square Garden (which is also Penn Station, just like in Boston, North Station is also where the Celtics and the Bruins play - it used to be the Boston Garden, but that was a long time ago, before corporations started naming venues after themselves). Right there outside the Garden was a percussion band playing. It was about an hour and a half to game time and about every other person was wearing a Ranger's Jersey.

Just past the percussion band and the taxi line, this guy was making his presence known, like he was looking out for justice, freedom and safety:

We taxied our way to the first yarn shop The Yarn Company. I am using their specially dyed Madeline Tosh to make a sweater that friends call me crazy for making. I'm using The Yarn Company's Midnight in Manhattan to make this sweater. It's done in really thin yarn on really thin needles and is taking FOREVER. I got the yarn last year on the yarn crawl which we were on about this time of year. I started the sweater a couple of month ago. See how long it takes to actually start something new? I fell in love with a Verdant Gryffin yarn, but didn't pick it up.

Instead, I bought nothing and headed to another yarn shop called String. It was lovely. Had lots of nice fiber and the things one can make with fiber on the walls. They had an Artyarn collage of yarn to make this amazing scarf, but it was way-way out of my budget. I walked out of String without purchasing anything, but I did take a photo of this lovely chair. They had two and I just adored them:

We then made our way to a yarn shop we went to last year. I just adore this place. It has some, "Wow! Look at that yarn!" It doesn't have tons of that. It has a lot of staples - good, high quality fiber that won't pill. It has lots of yarn ideas. It also has a ridiculous number of hidden knitted creatures about. It also had enough to tempt me and my wallet. 😊 This yarn shop is Downtown Yarns at 45 Avenue A. There I got:

The top pink yarn is for a pair of fingerless gloves and the pattern is a store pattern. I loved the yarn and the pattern. Then the yarn directly above? That's purple velvet. I'm so going to knit that into a beret. If you're really curious, it's the Touch Me Slouch Beret on Ravelry. In fact, this yarn's label does say, "Touch Me," so Alice in Wonderland of it. Once you start touching it, you can't stop.

Next was The Smith for lunch, where I drank this quickly on an empty stomach and got inebriated:

I also ordered a breakfast pot pie which came out with three eggs over easy. They were supposed to be sunny side up, but sunny side up eggs freak me out a little. I like a light flip, enough to cook the whites completely, but leaves the yolk brilliant yellow and gooey. So good.

I had a moment with the bathroom here that made me think of Goddard. The bathroom was unisex, which I didn't realize at first. I walked into the open air doorway and turned to the stalls, which had sinks across from the floor to ceiling stall doors. The sinks were like old fashioned kitchen sinks, wide and white with old fashioned hardware. Standing at every one of the sinks, there were four or five, was a man. There was also a man at the doorway, standing there looking. Men everywhere. Not a single woman and I thought, "Holy shit! I just walked into the men's room!" I squeaked, spun around and started to haul tail out the archway I had walked I under when the guy who was standing. In the doorway and a couple of men at the sinks said, "No! No! You're right. This is the bathroom." I immediately thought, "Yeah, right buddy. You would love to see me in the men's room wouldn't you?" But then I realized I was in a unisex bathroom that just happened to be full of only men when I walked in. Before we left the restaurant I went to the bathroom again and inside were only women. As I was washing my hands, a man was having a hard time getting out of his stall. I told him to pull toward him and a couple of seconds later he was freed. "This bathroom is so weird," he said. He started to explain getting stuck. I grabbed some papertowels to dry my hands and as I was throwing them away, I said, "I struggled to get out too." He laughed and I walked out.

Here is a picture of my breakfast pot pie, but all you can really see if it is the over easy eggs. You can see the cheddar biscuit under the eggs; it's the brownish substance heading up toward the handle of the dish:

The last yarn shop was Purl Soho. That store does me in every time. At dinner the night before we went out to NYC, I was looking at shawls we might want to make. (With what time, I ask you.) I found one called Ginkgo Shoulderette Shawl. It calls for sport weight yarn. Of course Purl Soho had something absolutely amazing:

Throughout the day, there were a couple of sites of note:

Pardon me while I just moor my boat up here. Think anyone will mind?

Two other things to talk about and then I'll wrap this up and head to bed. This event was hosted by ChEckiTDance. It was a fund raiser for one of my knitting friend's daughter's dance company. So the daughter brought cookies and water to The Yarn Company and we finished them in String. They were small bite sized cookies, and they were wonderful. I kept eating the mocha cream ones. I couldn't stop. Good thing they were only about the size of a quarter and there were only a couple of them!

And my last thoughts are highly personal and a bit private, but this is my life and it's not always so perfect. I came off one of my anti-anxiety medications last week. ...or was it the week before? One of my colleagues was picking on me because I was suffering from anxiety so badly at the beginning. My counselor and I were talking about how coming off an anti-anxiety can cause anxiety as your body adjusts. She said that the anxiety caused by coming off the drug makes people think they still need it and so they stay on it. I powered through the rough moments last week. But New York yesterday might have been more than I could handle. Commuter rails, the tiled walls in The Smith restaurant that bounced noise everywhere, and the hubbub of the day. I was happily looking at yarn in Purl Soho when I realized I was not doing well. I asked for assistance and was given a bathroom. There, my normal reactions to anxiety ensued. By the time I was pulled together enough to leave the loo, I was shaken - not just stirred. I purchased the blue yarn I showed above and we all left the store. (I made a big scene of losing a giant bag of yarn, but I had it all along and was told I was mean to do it. Once out of the store, I apologized, but was told that wasn't necessary either.) Once in the Uber ride to Penn Station, I took a breakthrough anxiety medication. Mom was all concerned and asked if I was okay. "No, no I'm not." It wasn't until much later that it kicked in and I was able to relax on the train ride back to our car.

I don't regret coming off the anti-anxiety medication. I know I might need more of the temporary anti-anxiety medication than I did when I was on the daily medication, and that's okay. I'm muddling through, just like we all are. I haven't gotten it all figured out and I might need to go back on the daily medication in the future when my life turns more chaotic or crisis filled. But for now, I'm off it. I do find I'm grumpier. I have a shorter fuse, but I haven't discovered if that's my body working through the chemicals, like when I take Zyrtec - I'm just so bitchy. Again, if the bitchy continues, perhaps it is anxiety related and I will have to go back to the daily med.

I wanted to try life without it and see how it goes. If it doesn't, that's fine. Just further proof I'm an imperfect human who is in need of a little empathy, compassion, peace and grace.