Today I have to come up with a letter to my anxiety, something I decided last week after reading Shilpa Gupte’s letter to her own anxiety. With good intentions, I am sitting with the laptop screen open in front of me. The images of past anxious times are flashing in my mind but those are just that, flashes. No words pass on my mind’s highway. Let me close my
mind eyes and concentrate.
2 minutes passed. No success. My anxiety tells me I have bid her a vacation with my sense of humour. Whether it is the good humour or the bad one, she does not clarify. Well, how could she? After all clarity of mind does not work well for her existence and longevity. Let me just assume what she took along with her was the not-so-good-one. I believe, which, is a good thing for me.
For the time being.
Until she gets back.
Until the sun is shining on my windowsill.
Gosh, I wasn’t supposed to say that when I know the overcast forecast for the day.
Oh! There is a P.S. note too. From her. She sent it through the fading evaporating whisper system of my mind, a biology-physiology-nervousology-technology she uses to communicate with me.
Wait, what is this now? PlayingTricksWithMeYetAgainLogy?
This is rubbish. All rubbish. I am not going to decode this.
I might head over and make a cup of tea for myself and sit by the sunny windowsill as long as the sun is shining.
Such a respite she is not here with me on this lovely Monday.
Linking this post with Monday Musings hosted by Corinne Rodrigues.