High Anxiety

"Oh, shit," I thought last night, driving home, as I became aware of the antsy, hard-to-breathe, mind's-starting-to-race feeling spreading over me. "I've only been on the increased dose of FXor for four or five days. Don't tell me it's going to make me anxious too. What's next if I fail on this drug too? How many times can I start from scratch?"

"Oh, shit," I thought this morning, driving to work, as I noticed that the antsy, hard-to-breathe, mind's-a'racin' feeling was firmly entrenched. "Should I call Dr. Oui? Do I even have the strength for this shit?"

Five minutes ago, I took my first Xnx in months.

Two minutes ago, I hit my head in a class 'doh!' moment.

It's election day. An election in which I am so invested, and the results of which I am so scared, that it should only be surprising that I was able to get myself out of bed this morning. Not to be anxious? Me? About this?

The Xnx was a good choice. Better still will be if sanity and humanity prevail today. Otherwise, I'm not sure there's enough medication in the world to get me through the next four years--and their repercussions. There's not enough medication in the world to keep the ugliness, hatred and discrimination of the World According to Bush at bay. I'm scared. I'm really, really scared. Please let it be over soon. Please let it be really and truly OVER.