Despite having resided a steady dozen feet from the “edge” for decades now, when confronting a hard deadline my anxiety swears I’m back on that precipice and teetering.
Nothing but air under the toes.
Nothing but a pushy wind at the back.
The next fall is coming, and there’ll be no climbing back from it.
Current hard deadline: Potcake puppy in eight days.
Current anxiety level: Toes are getting drafty.