I spent two days wondering if my brand new Prozac prescription was doing that thing where your symptoms get worse or if I was feeling normal anxiety that the Prozac would help in a few weeks. It was making the symptoms worse.
  1. I felt the phantom pain of a sunburn on my arm, but there was no sunburn.
  2. My dog barked in my face and I cried a little.
  3. I listened to six hours of podcasts to distract myself.
    This amounted to two episodes of Gilmore Guys.
  4. I fuckin white-knuckled so many conversations about Brexit.
  5. I spent dinner trying to convince myself I was not having an anxiety attack.
    I ate a piece of spicy chicken but I hadn't expected it to be spicy and I thought I was going to die. When I left to calm down, my sister texted me, "Don't come back yet. Grandma's talking about this shoe fetishist she knows."
  6. I ran out of the house with my brother and sister to get to the beach as quickly as possible because the sun looked really red and it was going to set in four minutes.
    Gregory drove 35 mph down this local windy road with like a 10 mph speed limit and I thought, "We're going to get into a crash and Gregory is going to die because he just said yesterday that his airbags were too powerful. Gregory is going to die because he drove too fast when he wanted us to see the sunset."
  7. We got stuck at a red light for like two straight minutes with the sun blocked by a landfill.
    "Just run the light," Megan said. "There's no cars coming." But this was where Gregory drew the line.
  8. We got to the sunset like two minutes late, but I told Gregory I had seen its final moment of descent.
    Or whatever it's called when the sun is 99% down and looks like half of a ring.
  9. I dared myself to shower.
    I don't remember if I used conditioner, but I did shower.