Overnight I had dreams of abandonment. I was living in a tiny apartment and working as paid convention staff somewhere. Everyone I knew, everyone I loved, was gone, and I was still dying of cancer. I woke up on the verge of both tears and depression.
Today I am behind on my packing. As in, not started. Ahem. But I'm not going to the airport for another nine hours, and all I have to do is settle two billing disputes, see my therapist, go to the post office, and pack for fifteen days overseas. All of it at half speed, because I neither move nor think fast anymore. Nonetheless, all will be well, I am certain of it.
So, yeah, cracking I get.