Now that it's been a month since hijackers flew planes into important American buildings for unknown reasons (aside from general terrorism, that is. They didn't leave any notes so we don't know specifically why they did it) I'm suddenly aware of how much I'm still affected by it. I'm restless all the time, sometimes to the point of irritability, other times simply unable to sleep more than a few hours at a time, waking at three and four in the morning wondering why sleep seems so self-indulgent when I could be running or studying or doing chores, anything rather than lay peacefully in bed. I feel a call to action. Adrenaline surges, sure, but not the sort associated with panic attacks. Just a constant, irresistable push from my subconcious: don't just sit there, do something. Inertia equals...what, I wonder? There's a strange equation inside my head and the consequence is this inability to sit quietly for very long.
So I gave in today. I got up at 4am, watched tv for a couple of hours, lay down and napped fitfully for another couple of hours, got up and answered email, went ape looking for the keys to our brand new safe deposit box, finally found them with half an hour to spare before the bank closed for the day, drove John to his destination, drove the opposite direction to the bank and recovered my jewelry, went to the gas station to fill up, drove back to my house to drop off the jewelry, drove back again to where the bank was and got on the freeway there, spent an hour and a half or so at Fredlet's charming housewarming party, collected a Sly Fox Design coffee mug and some Starbuck's coffee from her, realized I did not have time to work out as I'd promised to be home by 4pm, stopped off at the Peninsula Humane Society and actually filled out an adoption form for a beautiful white, purebred German Shepherd, had a play session with him and was crushed to realize he didn't care at all about my presence -- no personal connection of any sort, though he would accept cuddling and was obviously a great dog, rushed back home an hour late, and kissed John as he dashed out the door to use the car for his own errands. I spent the remaining time doing three loads of laundry, working in the garden, and having dinner. Now it's 8:30pm and I haven't had a minute to rest all day.
Didn't I say I was trying to cut back on my activities? I'm failing badly. I'm busy all the damn time. But in a way I can't help it. It's anxiety. It's fear. It's bluster. It's bravado. I feel as though I, and my country, have laced on the Red Shoes and we are now dancing to a relentless rhythm that has no pause.
You know when I sit still the longest, of course. It's when I am at the computer. So if you see daily entries for the next few weeks, know that I'm seeking surcease from the dance, if only for a while.
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