I wish I understood my own mind a bit. For a couple of months now, I've been stressed out about two projects. One was almost completely out of my power to get done, but making sure it got done was completely my responsibility. Stressful. The other was also completely my responsibility, but I had a bit more to do with getting it done. Some crucial step would come up that required my work or my input, I'd get it done, and then I was back to waiting for the next piece to pop up. It was a whack-a-mole project, making it actually a bit more stressful than my "cross my fingers and hope" project.
Both launched this week. Stress over, right?
I wish. There's this knot in my gut, and I can't figure out what it's from. Usually when I'm stressed, my mind has some thing it's working on like a puzzle, and my mind is rotating it this way and that in my mind, trying to fit in the next piece, and all that brain churn keeps me up at night. Not this time. It's like the stress itself is the puzzle, and my brain is approaching it from every possible angle, trying to figure out what's causing it.
It's a knot, that much is clear, but there's not one or two big things in there that I'm worrying about. Instead, there's a mess of phone calls to make, little things to fix, big things to plan, and the one, big, intractable problem that I can't really do shit about. Except make a phone call to make an appointment to talk about options and find out what the hell is going on.
But I don't want to think about that, so instead I worry about how much longer the dryer is going to last on its slow march to death and replacement, what my boss is going to ask about the next time he walks into my cube, or which gutter place to call for a second estimate.
I guess I've got some phone calls to make over lunch.