It's been nine weeks since I last went to the clinic to have my blood tested. Nine weeks without checking to make sure my blood cells are behaving. One bad apple can spoil the whole bunch.
I've been dragging around my insecurity blanket these last couple of weeks. Some days I'm overwhelmed, other days I'm fine. On bad days, I crawl under the blanket and curse the darkness. On better days, I challenge myself to "accomplish" things, ticking off tasks with a vengeance.
When I'm not worrying about blood counts, I fret about when my son will get his act together and work on his college applications. Half his classmates are applying Early Decision, which means they've already submitted an application to their first-choice school. I'm wondering if Mark can even meet the Late Decision deadline.
Surprisingly, I'm not wasting an ounce of anxiety on our battered personal finances. We'll just plan on dying sooner rather than later.
Tomorrow morning I'll be handed a sheet of paper with numbers on it. Will they be winners? It's nerve-wracking to play this lottery, but play it I must.