Breathe

I get out of the elevator and walk down to my door. Open. Close. Lock. Shoes off. Take off my jacket, set down my purse.

And suddenly my heart is racing, thudding against my ribs as if it wants to escape or as if I've just run up and down the stairs two hundred times. It beats so hard that I can hear it in my ears in my palms in my throat in my belly in my chest.

I don't know what happens sometimes. It isn't a panic attack, not quite. But sometimes a little bitty thought that I don't want to think about will slip whoooosh out of its tightly wound up little corner and set off my heart like a hammer in a cage. A tiny little thought made of bits and pieces of various fears - of things that could be or things that could not be - of things that could bring down the house of cards. And then that wispy little thought is pushed away again. Back back back. Back where it should be. Tied in place with sturdy little ropes of hope and denial and blithe optimism and stubborn refusal.

Until the next time.