you probably know that I’m a stress-er. I live in an almost perpetual state of frantic anxiety, picking up another glass ball of worry as soon as I have a legitimate reason to drop the one that I had been holding before.
For three weeks, I’ve been carrying a knotted ball of stress re: finances. Because I’m one of those actual-adults now; I have bills and responsibilities and textbooks to pay for. I have to feed myself, and my car (which, recent Great Thing #1, I recently paid off and officially own), and I thought I was going to unemployed for the duration of summer.
In the last two days, I’ve been handed a freelance editing gig, a front desk position at my old writing center, and a few hours a week filing paperwork for my mother on top of the already-planned housesitting and nannying hours with my favorite nine year old.
When stuff like this happens, I imagine God sitting up in heaven with a sly smile on his face, nudging one of his angels and whispering “she doesn’t even know what’s coming!”
That’s probably after he’s spent a lot of hours rolling his eyes at the mountain of stress I’m almost-always attempting to dominate.