Anxious and scared

I’m not sure it would be fair to say really good things don’t happen to me. That would perhaps seem to deny the great blessings—as cliché as they are—I’ve received; the greatest of all: family. That’s not what I’m talking about, though.

From something as trivial as never winning anything in a local raffle to a major accomplishment like getting into a prestigious school, that’s just not what happens to me.

I do my work—as much as stress allows—and don’t overly complain about it. I understand privilege and (or) luck and the amount of each that I possess. Fair or not, sometimes I care, other times I don’t see the point in even caring.

In a few days, all this may change. So I’m anxious and scared. There’s a possibility, but if luck has anything to do with this, then I can’t help but feel pessimistic. It just doesn’t seem to be the kind of thing that happens to me.

I guess we’ll see.

It’s been quite a while since I last wrote here. I’m not one who journals, or at least I thought so—perhaps this blog has been a journal. Writing is therapeutic and part of my stress may be due to my lack of journaling time. I should come back to it—as long as it doesn’t become another source of stress itself.

Last thing: I hate being vague and general about the events that cause the feelings I usually write about. For the moment, however, I rather keep it this way, hoping that changes in the coming days.

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