Panic Attack

May I just sit and sob? Please? Would you all say, en masse, "Janny, Darling, you're justified. Sob all you want."

I'm going to meet my precious friend Jill for breakfast. I'm the only person for whom Jill will get up extra early so we can meet for breakfast. I'm in tears that I won't see her again after this. Yesterday I stopped by to see my best-Tucson-friend Millie. The moment I laid eyes on her, my eyes welled up with tears. As the Lucy character says in You're A Good Man, Charlie Brown, "I can't stand it." (Okay, so she turns "stand" into a triphthong. You'd have to hear her inflection to know how great a phrase that is.)

My stuff is everywhere. I don't know how I'm going to find what I need. I don't know how to keep aside things to live on for the week or so until the moving van arrives. I don't know how I'm going to find anything I want without moving and sorting through 73 boxes in the storage unit. I'm overwhelmed.

I'm putting my lovely dresser in storage. I picked this dresser out at DeWitt Designs after the Steve debacle. I picked it out myself. I love this dresser. This is my adult dresser. And I'm moving into a bedroom with cast-off furniture from the babies' nurseries. I'm scared. I feel like I'll be just floating, levitating, above everything in the Youngstown house. I'm scared that, not having my "things" around, I'll lose myself, lose my identity.

This is the right thing to do. Is this the right thing to do?

My family loves me. I have two houses and four mortgages. My family is helping me and I'm helping them. Am I losing my identity?

I just want to sit and cry.