Worrying

Anxiety is the future stealing from the present, somebody told me not long ago, and even though he has a point, knowing that isn't quite enough to make me stop worrying today. I have no concrete reason for concern. Everything is the same. Mild cramping, which I am treating with rest. I ordered Chinese food. My appetite isn't great, as it hasn't been so far.

Maybe I'm worried because I've told a couple of people and I am worried about jinxing myself. That could be it, even though I am an intelligent, highly educated woman who by all rights out not believe in jinxes.

I would rather be at the library.

I would rather be deep in my work.

Instead, I'm on the couch, with a heating pad, simmering in sexual frustration and preoccupied with forces wholly and completely out of my control. I am in the present, fully, because my body is trapping me in it, and yet the present is being stolen from me by my fears about the future.

The mind can be a duplicitous thing. Or place in which to dwell.