I turn the key in the ignition and grip the steering wheel; ten-and-two, as always. I breathe. No, I heave. Sigh. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Well, I try anyway.
I remind myself that this is a tight little spiral. Anxiety. Nothing is actually wrong. I haven’t forgotten anything. Nobody is injured. I am just picking up my daughter from school, as usual. I am pulling away from the curb as usual. It is all okay.
Still, it doesn’t feel usual. Or okay. It feels completely bananas. I remind myself that this is anxiety, a known Celeste Noelani medical condition. I am not being chased and have not done anything wrong. I am just, you know, anxious.