Fear

Fear like a cold wash across my skin. So scared, that it’s hard to swallow past it, as if fear could be something solid and real on my tongue.
We are not going out for weeks this time. We are only doing three out of town events. We have days in between to rest, and do other things. That idea is hopefully going to translate into a more user friendly tour for us. For me, fine, for me. It will help everyone, but especially me, because I’m all chicken shit about tour.
I’m feeling pretty weak and wimpy today. I’ve done much better this time, I’m only freaking, really freaking, the day before the first plane ride. That’s a vast improvement from where I started, but still . . . I’d like to be a little less frightened. Phobias are no respecter of logic. They thrive in a world of anti-logic. Shit.
I thought maybe, writing about the fear would lessen it. Sometimes writing a scene that’s frightening helps get it out of my system. Violence and anger certainly can be cathartic on the page. But typing this is not helping me much. A little, I guess, pulse rate’s down, a wee calmer. Deep breaths, slow, even, deep breaths.
I’m going to go and start getting ready for tomorrow. But first I’ll do something ordinary and simple to try and stop the frantic train of my thoughts. Brushing teeth is good, or putting on make-up. Anything that is familiar and causes you to concentrate on something physical, preferably something that holds no great emotional baggage, because there is already way too much emotional baggage in my arms. Put it down, brush your teeth, brush your hair, anything like that. Better, now go, do what you need to do. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.