“So what,” you ask, fundamentally fed up with all this stalling, “do you need such a whacking great tank for?”
To fulfill a promise made to itty bitty me.
Basically, it’s very expensive therapy.
It’s not, as you’ve probably guessed, a baby shark.
But leaving Offspring guessing about what I was plotting here while he nobly battles red tape and ignorance in support of… whatever it is we’re doing over there. I’ve honestly forgotten.
Let’s talk about Anxiety.
First of all, as successfully evolved humans, we all have some. That’s why we’re alive and the unsuccessful models that preceded us are not. When a strange silence fell over the forest, our ancestors tensed and slid into the shadows just in case; we are the descendants of those who, when confronted with a new thing, let someone else try it first in case it was just a fancy new way to die horribly.
What we call anxiety is just our poor highly-evolved brains trying desperately to keep us alive in a world that’s not actually trying to kill us anymore.
I just checked my stats this week, and I’ve got some bad news.
Statistically speaking, we are not friends.
I mean, obviously I love you because you take time out of your day to come here and read about me—my favorite topic in the world, thankyouverymuch—but there’s no denying that I don’t know and have never met an estimated 99.993% of you.*
I’ve said before that if you ever see I’ve skipped a post you should assume I’ve been killed by spiders—because it is 100% reasonable to assume it will be the spiders that kill me someday. I know this because they are out to get me; yes, I have proof and no, I don’t want to talk about it. That’s not what we’re here for today.
It turns out, I was wrong.
Okay, this is the last moving-related post. I swear. And it’s barely a moving post, since I’m not going to talk about the boxes that are the bane of my existence or how I still haven’t found my shampoo. It’s cool, I’ll just buy more.
It’s just… remember the brain crabs?
The ones we killed off when I, you know, found a place to live and totally pulled off this move even after everything went pear-shaped at the last fucking minute?
Turns out they’re armor-plated and radioactive.
My brain, normally full of ferrets, is now filled with pinching, angry crabs all screaming the same thing.
“YOU’RE GOING TO BE HOMELESS IN A STRANGE CITY!”
Fucking brain crabs.