Worry worry worry (or, you know, maybe it’s just the fact that I am a chronic and probably-terminal worrier…)
While I realize on some level that the entire economic system is a construct—not real, no actual translation into tangible form—this does not often prevent me from having major brain-freezing bouts of panic when I think about our debts ($5,000 on credit cards! $6,000 on the car! $50,000 on student loans!! How will we ever afford a wedding/reception/dog/baby/house/retirement!?!). There have been so many times that I’ve thought “If we just had the $1,000-10,000 to get us rolling, it would be so much easier” (the amount has gone steadily up over the last ten years—not a big surprise). And now I think about my job, and try to think up ways to insure that I will eventually earn a more substantial salary, and hope that The Husband will soon land a regular job that pays him something close to what I make so that we can do more than just barely scrape by forever and ever, and wonder how in God’s name we’re going to pay for the wedding (Wedding) and reception that we told everyone we were going to have in a year, and that’s why you shouldn’t be upset that we just went to the courthouse and got married, and then we had to drive to California a second time for The Husband’s grandma’s wake, which pushed the mileage over 60,000, which means I had to get the car serviced which is another $300 on the credit card, and now there are two weddings and two short trips which makes four excursions over the next three months, which will cost gas and food and maybe new clothes and I need more summer clothes because all my summer things are not work appropriate and I tore my last pair of black capris months ago but I can’t go clothes shopping because I a) can’t afford to spend any more money and b) need to lose 15 pounds before I buy any more clothes and we need to go to the grocery store and I am so tired and don’t feel like cooking we should get take-out we can’t afford to get take-out again we eat out way too much and that right there is probably a lot of your credit card debt, dummy, maybe you should exercise some self-restraint oh fuck it I’m calling for thai and getting a movie do you want a side of peanut sauce?
On Friday afternoon I developed a fairly painful tension in my neck. I went home and begged a neck rub off my husband, and sort of whimpered about it for the rest of the night.
Saturday morning (after a poor night’s rest—just try turning over when your neck screams in agony very time you move) I had difficulty getting out of bed. Ultimately, The Husband drove me to the hospital, where I was allotted a muscle relaxer and some generic Vicodin. The drugs allowed me to spend the remainder of the weekend pretty much pain-free—though too stoned to do much of anything except sleep and watch movies on DVD.
Monday my neck felt much better, so I skipped the drugs (since, I suppose, becoming a Vicodin junkie might be problematic) and went to work, where I struggled to focus through the remnants of painkillers.
The odd thing, though, is that I didn’t do anything to bring on this tension—I wasn’t lifting boxes, I wasn’t playing basketball, I didn’t get in a car wreck—hell, I didn’t even turn my head sharply. I don’t really think I’ve been unduly stressed, but that’s really the only answer. I suppose that the combined pressure of all of the recent life-changes and the potential for more in the fairly-near future might have gathered in my subconscious, and decided, as a group, to go set up shop in the left side of my neck—but why? Wouldn’t it have been more fun for everyone if I’d just had a few bad dreams? (My personal favorite in the stress-dreams repertoire is the zombie dreams. A few zombie dreams would have been much better than a painful neck and a drugged-up weekend…)