On not getting anywhere.

I am in the throes of possibly the most insidious blogging block I have ever suffered. I could say it’s because my head is stuffed with packing tape and bubble wrap, which is true. But what little gray matter I have left is simmering with so much anxiety that nothing coherent or interesting can get through. I assume my increased anxiety level is because of the imminent move, although the specific fears and worries have little to do with the fact that we're leaving Brooklyn forever and ever OH GOD. Right now I’m pretty much afraid of whatever’s around. For instance, the other day I read an article about dog bites, and then tried not to imagine Henry getting bitten, and then failed at that because my imagination is really working at top efficiency these days. Like that. Except everything else, too.

So I’m not sure what to do. I could write about my anxiety, but it’s boring me to tears, so I can only imagine what it would do to you. It would be like someone writing about how they can’t stop running in a tight circle around their living room day in and day out, run run run run. “Hour 34: I continue to run. I’m still not getting anywhere.” This is pretty much what I’m doing these days. Aren’t you glad you came to check in?