At the end of the first really, truly single week of my life since 2002 (that’s 11 years of men, my friends), lessons blow in gales. I can barely hear a thing. My eyes sting.
Somehow, I am still upright.
Honestly? It’s a little bit thrilling.
Anxiety is love’s greatest killer. It creates the failures. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him but you know he will strangle you with his panic.
– Anais Nin, February 1947