Meet the acid pit:

It's otherwise known as my stomach.

The first time I noticed an issue with anxiety, was when I went back to college to finish my bachelor's degree. That was in the 90s. There have been only a handful of times that my stomach has pulled this number before. The last time was the last 3 years, prior to my marriage ending. The time before that, was when I came to this state on getting a job 5 years ago.

Now there are two things going on, neither of which are comforting. First, something happening at work that makes me feel totally incompetant and worthless. Well, I'm in school half time and working full time, and trying to allow a long-distance relationship to blossom (which we all know takes work, even in the bestest of circumstances, even in the same town). So I get mucked under. So what? Apparently I can't learn anything fast enough, and I'm drowning.

Add to that, my pissy attitude. Wouldn't you have a bad attitude if everyone around you could do everything fine, and every morning your boss comes in and asks you to explain your rationale behind every stinkin' number you wrote down, all night long?

So, I'm inadequate. I'm super PMS girl. I'm afraid to relocate. I'm afraid not to relocate. I'm afraid that my fears have completely confounded M.W., who does not understand how much I want and need the support and acceptance of my closest and dearest friend: him.

Yeah, my stomach is digesting itself. And not because it's hungry.... because it's terrified that it and I won't succeed. That we won't get what we are working toward. That we won't get a job and live happily ever after -- alone or with M.W. -- halfway to heaven (a.k.a. the Alexander Valley, coming from the southeast side).

Oh, wanna know what else is gross? My body chemistry goes all screwy to go along with my tummy. I haven't had a day that my deoderant didn't fail, since just after Christmas. Pew.