Yesterday my thoughts were all about excuses and justification.

Today they're all about trepidation and apprehension.

I think it's a Thursday thing. The weekend is approaching and, chances are, the weekend is when the shit will hit the fan.

Probably not this weekend, maybe not ever, but that doesn't stop me from obsessing over the horrible possibility each and every week as Friday approaches.

I've got one hurdle left to cross. One potential obstacle standing between me and my goal of being a sane person again.

This scenario is, fortunately, not very likely. I could actually go so far as to call it unlikely. But I still can't stop worrying about it. Obsessing over it.

No matter how much I try, no matter how often I envision myself crossing that barrier, I just don't think I'd be able to do it.

I think I'd turn around and walk the other way.

I think I'd fling shit into the fan.

I've gotten to know myself and my own capabilities (or lack thereof) pretty well over the last several months. I've learned to handle a lot. A lot more than I thought I could. I also discovered some fragility that I didn't know existed.

I'm pretty sure that I couldn't handle this.

This would trip me up. This would shatter my sanity. Like a waiter that drops an overloaded tray of dishes, I'd lose the grip I hold on my own mind, and drop it. Watch it fall and shatter into a million pieces.

If I could see it coming first, before I was forced to try yet doomed to fail, I don't think I'd even try.

I think I'd turn around and walk the other way.

Watch out for flying shit.