Two miracles happened this week.
One: I was reading a book from vinnies and there was a stain. I turned the page, I kept reading.
Two: I dropped my chocolate croissant on the footpath. I picked it up, I fucking ate it.
For years my mind has been a kaleidoscope of convoluted logic that always tends to end in the certainty of immanent, if illogical and undefined, danger. I live so much in the gaps in moments when something (a sudden fear, a bit of dirt, something out of order) turns the world off kilter – the gaps where my hands start to tingle and my head itches with anxiety. For example although I manage to get out of the house, after a careful checking, and multiple rechecking, normally I need to return. To recheck the stove, even though it hasn’t been used since I checked it repeatedly the night before, power points, the front door. I often miss my bus. Then there’s the contamination thing, which is much worse and which is why these miracles are so, well, miraculous (oh well, you know, there has also been copious therapy and hard work). I think turns out that the mind is the thing – it shapes so much what you see and how you feel. It is nice to live without the (irrational) fear of catastrophe.