Anxiety-induced insomnia. Yay.
My brain hasn’t been a good place to be these last couple of days. Lots of spinning. Repeated phrases. Obscure plots. Insane tangents where a “What if…?” tears off into a terrifying oblivion.
If I was more of a drinker, I’d be plastered right now.
Even classical music isn’t bringing me down. Normally, the structure of classical music gives me something to latch on to so the spinny bits can run themselves down. I have over 28 hours of the stuff for this exact reason. But no such luck tonight.
So instead, I’m sitting up in a hotel room (we went out of town for the weekend) grateful that I have my own room so that I can sit up with the lights on, listening to classical music, and writing.
It’s not like I have to be up in, oh…six and a half hours.
And I’m hardly tired. The only caffeine I’ve had today is whatever was in that handful of dark chocolate covered almonds I ate a while ago.
At least writing is happening. And I’ve realized that my heroine is an anxious person like me. It could be therapeutic, or it could block me up. We’ll just have to wait and see.
I’ve been wanting to write about a panic attack from the inside. Let’s see if I can get there in one piece.