That lump in my throat is a soldier. It stands firm guard, making sure nothing gets in, nothing gets out. It is not amused by painted toenails in the sun, or the most peacefully quiet lunch break. It is not amused by the softest most oversized pajamas. It is not amused when I am amused.
Its only weakness is when I take deep breaths, which is almost like sticking a feather up that soldier's nose. He gives way for a short time. Then my throat is like a busy train track, which for the moment is clear. There is a youthful dash across the tracks, a high five if the mood is right- and California smiles until the soldier itches his nose and re-assumes his position. His duty, almost.
**yes I write about anxiety a lot. yes writing about it makes it easier to understand, to deal with, and to embrace. yes, I hope I get better soon.