It's 7:55 as I write this.

I got some work done today; not enough. (Never, or rarely, enough.)

Anxiety kept stalking me like the then-state-of-the-art creeping VFX death that passed over the Jews in The Ten Commandments. I guess I have the lamb's blood on my door; things got chilly and a little dark, but I'm still here.

At one point during the day, I told The BF I absolutely was staying here tonight. Absolutely. I have my 8am coaching call tomorrow morning, a shrink appointment just after, and that Never Ending Tower of Work to attack blindfolded and barefoot with my blunt & rusty pickaxe.

And then, slightly later in the day, something snapped. I called him back: on the landline, and then the cell. Had he made other plans yet? (He had not, if you don't count taking the trash cans to the curb.) Would he like for me to come over still? (He would; we could watch TV-on-DVD in bed, he said.)

Or we could talk. Or we could just hang out.

I would be over at 8, I said.

It's 8:02 now, and it will be more like 8:20 by the time I pack it up. But pack, I will, so I'll keep it short. (Like you don't have enough other stuff of mine to read?)

Do me a favor, okay? Whatever you're doing right now, just stop. For a second. And ask yourself if it's the thing you want-with-a-capital-"W" to be doing, or just something you said you'd do. Promised you'd do. Are doing to avoid something else more meaningful you could be doing.

I know it's silly of me to even suggest that you, spending this time at your computer or staring at your iPhone or your crackberry, might not be making the best, most you-ful use of your time. And hell, maybe reading this post, and whatever you're going to do just after, are the exact perfect things you should be doing.

I'm just checking. We've got to stop and look out for each other, you and I...

xxx c

Image by Hot Tuna via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.