It’s a funny thing about paranoia. At least I know where mine comes from—I have a healthy case of PMS. And a little anxiety, but the PMS does not help. Yesterday was particularly brutal—lots of sighing, heartburn-type tension in the chest, some glumness, a few tears ready to pop… I went to the gym to work it out, which would have been great, except I went to a different location than I usually go to, and it sucked. My workout was really truncated, so it didn’t do much for my mood. Went home, had some dinner, watched some TV, then talked to a couple of friends, then got into bed. The Knew Bo called at 10:30-ish, and we talked for about 30 minutes. I was tired. Tried to sleep. Couldn’t.

My mind won’t stop racing. Like, I get into bed and I’m tired, and I usually end up asleep within half an hour, but the past two nights have been awful. Last night I took a Tylenol PM at 11:40, trying to avoid the lateness of the night before, but just as I was drifting off, the panic struck AGAIN. Fucking hormones. Fucking stress. Fucking LIFE.

Not that life is generally bad. It’s actually pretty good. The job is OK (I have one!), the friends are good, the gym is good, I’m busy, Vegas is on the horizon (Mom and I are going for my birthday!), I’m about to re-start with a new place, if I actually get approved for this one, and I’m seeing a guy I like. So life itself is OK. But so many things have to be worked out! That’s the problem, really.

So I’m going home tomorrow, and hopefully that will improve things. Hopefully I’ll be able to sleep. Funny thing is that I don’t feel tired at all, so I guess it’s OK. And today I have put a moratorium on the sighing. Wish me luck.

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