Six weeks

Six weeks. The anxiety has hit.

It started months ago in my dreams.

I would be tooling around the valley doing nothing in particular--driving on the freeway, sitting at the kitchen table, walking down the street. And WHAM! Why am I not in Ghana? Did I finish the project? I didn’t say goodbye. Why didn’t I finish the project? What good is it for me to plan for five months and be home early with nothing to show for it? It is going to be too expensive to fly back now. How did I get here? Why am I home? Wait, why am I thinking this? I was in Ghana, and now I am back. It doesn’t make sense. Am I dreaming? And WHAM! I’m awake, my heart racing, fighting to catch me up with reality.

The dreams have stopped, or at least abstracted themselves a bit, but the anxiety is still there. I can feel it in the morning, gradually filling me up. I start fighting to find a drain or a leak when it starts lapping against my waist. Time will be gone before I know it.