I jumped out of bed yesterday morning and shook Shawn awake in one fluid motion. "It's 8 o'clock-I'm late-I have to shower-can you please deal with the dogs" I shouted as I ran out of the bedroom. He mumbled something sleepily in reply but I didn't hear him; I was already in the bathroom. I was furiously rinsing suds out of my hair when Shawn poked his head around the shower curtain. "Baby," he said gently, "it's quarter to seven. You don't need to rush." I rarely remember my dreams so when I do I have a hard time differentiating between them and real life. I dreamt that I was an hour late so when I woke up, I woke up in a panic and didn't stop to think.
Yesterday was rough. My mom had surgery in the morning and my brother jumped out of a plane (in Hawaii!) in the afternoon. The two events had nothing to do with each other; it was just an unfortunate coincidence that they happened on the same day. It's not surprising that that I woke up the way that I did. It's also not surprising that I spent the day in a similar state of frenetic energy. It's days like yesterday that make me realize how deeply my life is affected by my anxiety. There were times yesterday when I wasn't functioning because I was too busy envisioning a freak gust of wind carrying my brother out to shark-infested waters or other macabre scenarios.
I'm happy to report that everyone is alive and well. My mom's surgery went well and she is expected to be released from the hospital tomorrow and my brother managed to skydive without being eaten by sharks.
And I woke up at the correct time today and hit the snooze button a few times for good measure.