A Monday Morning Hurricane

At 5 a.m. this Monday morning, I was trying to talk myself into getting up and doing one of the two things I need to get up early to do: work out or write my memoir. I did not get up. I thought if I stayed in bed a bit longer paying attention to my breathing, the tight feeling in my chest would go away. I was not conscious of any particular thoughts causing the feeling, but there is (yet another) hurricane disaster headed this way and I am terrified of living without comforts like air conditioning and coffee. And a neighbor told me yesterday the pesticides we use on our lawn are poisoning the neighborhood, causing red tide, and probably caused the tumor that killed my last dog. She urged me to look up alternatives to pesticides and pick my own weeds. I cannot shake the feeling of guilt that I have not paid enough attention to what I am doing. And yet I have done nothing more to address it than remove the sign in my yard warning to stay off due to pesticide treatment. Classic denial. I laid in bed for an hour, contemplating these things, and got up to find my coffee maker broken. I spent an anxiety filled ride to my son’s school and back, which was calmed only by my antidepressant which I finally remembered to take and a cup of coffee from my backup machine. Having not done what I was supposed to so far, I felt lost. There was laundry, dirty dishes, clean dishes, the new puppy to take out, a workout to get done and writing. I couldn’t decide which thing to do. So I did my morning prayers and hoped to get some clarity. None came. So I decided to do it all, even a trip to the dog park to be dog mom of the year. Now I feel great and it isn’t even 9:30 a.m. yet. My choices or my choice in drugs (caffeine, antidepressant)? Who knows. Maybe I will even research some pesticide alternatives later.

A view from my front porch the morning of Hurricane Idalia on August 30, 2023