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| February's freeze |
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| Snow and ice in February |
I wrestled with
Sunday Night Anxiety for many years when I taught. I paced the house snarling
at anyone who crossed my field of vision. Some evenings I cried because I didn’t
want to go to work the next day. Once I retired, this overblown unease
retreated into the background, resurfacing for “special” occasions like doing
income taxes or handling unexpected car malfunctions. Worry dogged me whenever Perfection’s
crown slipped. Making simple mistakes drove me crazy, even when no one else knew
about my blunder.
Waltzing with worry
meant I weighed my thought processes constantly whenever stress strode into my
day. With COVID-19 looming daily in the background, I meticulously measured my “Danger!
Danger, Will Robinson!” warnings. By March of 2021, getting all of us
vaccinated motived my days. I strategized an attack that resulted in booking appointments
for both my husband and me within the first days of our eligibility. Beginning
midnight of the designated date, I rotated through Walgreens, CVS, Walmart,
HEB, and the UT Health sites in fifteen minute intervals. This technique worked
again the next week when my son’s age group gained eligibility. By the end of
March, all three of us had received the first shot of Pfizer.
Other Life ripples resolved during March, too. Our 2019 income taxes, buried under a pile of unprocessed forms at the IRS, finally got processed. Our rough-running car came out of its repair running like new. Our yard and gardens, frozen into submission in February, reemerged with subtle hope.
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| March's Hope |
Rebirth and Regrowth
Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
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