Stress is a mean phenom. It is an attack on the entire nervous system. What is one to do when under attack by an entire system? Until something better comes along, I think I will continue to step small, p-word big, and trust in politically incorrect beings to guide me through the far from fine chaos. This morning I think I would augment my F-word with pharmacueticals, if I could access them without the stress of another Due Process. Big if. . . It has been at least 20 years since I talked to a med pro without feeling their legal teams standing between us.
The first draft of the formal Breach of Contract arrived last night. I was feeling my psychoses acutely and decided not to interrupt my therapy tool work out just then. I responded to the email with a promise to review it in the morning. My early rising habits make it possible to complete such chores in the hours the 21st century norm typically calls, "Yesterday." Most days it is as easy as appreciating the morning bird concert. This morning my anxiety is roaring and . . . It ain't most days.
My failure to find a contractor to move the debris pile through the e-channels hit pretty hard. This was *supposed to be* the easy part. The one contractor I did speak to face-to-face smelled the breach of contract quicker than a bee smells pollen. The conversation didnae go well. As he left, he offered me a free bottle of honey from his own hives. I couldnae take his honey. I suffered a major bee mobbing and acquired the beekeeper's allergy the last time I took human politics into a bee hive with my husband. All that remains unresolved beyond the business-as-usual transition to my keeping a safe distance from the business while hubby continues to rise like a superstar. The still barely acknowledged beekeeper's allergy sits in my heart as an especially poetic illustration of the phenom.
The phone conversation with contractor scheduled to come out this morning was a breath of fresh air. I think. My difficulty with phone conversations was solidly in play and I missed enough of the conversation that I need to leave room for the possibility that it was a breath of fresh delusion. If I heard right through the random squeals and tones of the cell phone connection, he laughed with gentle compassion when I spoke of my e-justing. "I've been using those networks for years and you are precisely the second call I have received from Western Kentucky. Most of my calls come from the surrounding states. I'm in Missouri today. If you ain't on the good ol' boy network, your job ain't getting done." He promised that if he couldn't do the job, he would put me in contact with someone who can. Do I still have F-word in promises? Trying to keep an open mind. . .
Daily Inventory: Appetite sketchy. Gut knots fierce. Thoughts manicky. Focus scattered. Persilly is surprisingly calm as she rests at my feet.
Time to edit that legal document. P-words in progress. . .