April 28th, 1977

[continued]

Late night. Stretched out across my mattress on the floor amid the disaster of my bedroom. Sadie is curled up between my legs. The window is open slightly and a cold wet breeze is blowing. Wet and clod and rainy.

Sort of a nervy night. I’ve gone to Lynn and George’s after work the past few evenings primarily because there is no food here in the apartment and because I haven’t had an opportunity to get to the store. I can’t bear to ask Lynn to take me. She’s in no shape for an expedition like that after dinner. So I accept their hospitality and worry about taking care of Sadie. Tonight I wound up walking home in the rain on my crutches. When George stopped to pick up Hal after school, the building seemed to be locked and empty. It seems Hal was in another part of the school and consequently was stranded there. I had planned on having Hal go to the store for dog food. So– there I was faced with not having any dog food. Then I hoped that Lynn would drive to the school to get Hal and I could ride with her and ask her to stop by the store. But Lynn called a taxi for him, making it clear as she stretched out on the sofa in her caftan that she had no desire to get out in the rain drive anywhere. Then I decided that when the taxi arrived I would take it and ask the drive to stop by the deli up the street and wait for me while I ran inside (or hobbled) and bought dog food. The taxi never showed up and finally, at 10:00, the school called and said someone there would be bringing Hal home. Shot out of the saddle again. So everything was solved by my walking home with a huge package of leftover fish still warm from dinner for Sadie and Buddie.

All of which brings me to a point, of sorts.

All of these daily dilemmas that I approach with such anxiety and fretting are all just boring details. It’s very wrong to get hyped up by all the small parts. I remember Gene one day commenting on how worked up I was over some petty situation.

I am just beginning to relax more. Stop fretting. This journal has been helpful that way. Reading back, I am struck by all the little panics that had me so hysterical as I wrote about them. And in retrospect seemed so remote.

Worrying is a disease.