I am obsessed.
Crouched over my own two feet.
Struggling and second guessing myself over a task a four-year-old could do.
Lacing up my running shoes. Because —
They need to be perfect.
What does this mean? How can I know?
Everyone waiting —
Ready to go? I’m not.
Feeling rushed. Flushed. Just one more time. Maybe this is it. Yeah, this is it. Cool.
No —- no.
This way? There.
“Wait? Please. Just a second —
“Ok. I’ll catch up. Where? Where should I meet you?”
Oh my god — I am not ready.
What was I thinking? I can’t do this —
But I want to do this. I said I would. And they’re waiting.
I don’t want to be —
But I can’t.
I can’t —
Get past this feeling that I should feel complete and utterly —
Ready in some way that — well —