My eyes flew open and my heart was beating through my chest. I look at the clock- 5:15am. What am I doing up? Why do I feel like I’m having a panic attack? I lay there and try to go back to sleep, but my stomach is in a knot, and I can’t get back to sleep. I lay there in the silence of the dark room, and all of a sudden it hits me. I remember what I did to that little black box on my desk, and well, it wasn’t good.
I roll out of bed, let the puppy out (who seems as disoriented as I was not 5 minutes ago), and get on the computer. Research on how to restore permanently deleted files. Gulp. My throat closes up as I read solutions that sound like a foreign language. The knot grows tighter still.
Finally, a solution that might work. I repeat- might. But it’s worth a try, and my boss won’t let me go back to peaceful sleep until I know it’s being resolved.
The program begins to run, and I look at the clock again- 6am. I still don’t have to be up for another 45 minutes, so I decide to lay in bed and wait for that wretched alarm to go off. 5 minutes tick by, and I get out of bed and check on the program. 5 more minutes, and one more check.
I toss and turn, turn and toss. Taylor glares at me and lets out a heavy frustrated sigh. So I lay there, the knot growing ever tighter.
I know this will work. I can get those files back. I saw it working. It’s just a matter of time. Yet, I still don’t feel better. I don’t know why I can’t shake this feeling. My self-esteem sits high in her tower, pointing with a long pointy finger. “I told you, you couldn’t do this.” As much as I try not to listen, she goes on, “What a stupid mistake! How could you do that? What if it doesn’t work? It probably won’t.” and there it is, the knot growing tighter and bigger. I think I might hurl.
I crawl begrudgingly out of bed, and get ready for my day, although, all I really want to do is cry in a pool of self-pity.
Right before I walk out the door, I skootch up next to Brian, who is sleeping peacefully with the puppy. I shake him gently, and his eyes slowly open. I say “good bye” in a quivering voice, and through his glossy sleepy eyes, asks, “What’s wrong?”
“I think I’m depressed. I don’t know.” And here come the welling tears. It’s a bit dramatic, considering the grand scheme of things, but hey, that’s how I felt.
He blinks twice to allow the words to register and without knowing what’s actually wrong, he says, “You have a good life, and you have wonderful people who love you.” Wow. And right then, the knot loosened up, the lump went away, and that bitch with the pointy finger finally shut her mouth.
And this is why I married the man that I did. For moments just.like.this.
Happy 4 Year Anniversary, baby! I love you!