My best friend's farmhouse is silent this morning, except for the dog whining in a crate and his tail hitting the metal sides, sending off a "ping, ping" in the morning stillness. The only other sounds are my fingertips on my keyboard and Tuck's occasional bark from my car.
The day is about to explode in all its ferocious glory, but for now, it's me, my coffee and this screen. Earlier, it was me and Tuck on our morning walk in the Kentucky farmland.
He and I drove the 13 hours yesterday from Texas to here. Here. Where it feels like home in all of its comfortable familiarity. Even my car is happy to be here, to finally be here after its wheels spun us the entire 744 miles.
I was worried about that, you know, as I've been worried about a lot of things as of late.
Since when did I worry so much?
Since, well, forever, but sometimes worse than others.
This is a some time worse than others.
I was worried we would break down, I was worried that I wouldn't have money to fix the imaginary problem. I was worried all day yesterday that we would crash.
And so I became a paranoid old-lady driver. Blinker on 45 seconds before merging. Two car lengths between me and the vehicle in front of us. Look twice (three times) before switching lanes. Double-checking every gas station stop to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything or left my wallet anywhere.
Since when did I become old-lady paranoid driver?
Since yesterday, apparently.
I don't want to worry all the time, it just sneaks up on me.
"What else is there possibly for you to stress out about?" a friend asked me the other day after I spewed my current worries, some real, others not.
"Just give me time. I'll find something," I said.
I don't like admitting it, but it's true.
"I need to chill out...big time," I told my best friend on the phone yesterday.
And I do, which is probably why I'm on vacation and what better place to be to chill out big time then the place that knows me best and with the people who love me despite my uptight and highstrung tendencies?