I went out to dinner last night with a few of the girls to celebrate a new job and mourn a breakup. I'm not sure what hit me but my eyes were closing at the end of the meal because I was so tired. I only had one margarita, (which for any of you who know me know 2 is usually my minimum,) and I barely touched my food.
I left the restaurant around 9:20 and couldn't wait to crawl in bed. About six blocks from my house I saw AT LEAST 25 of these surrounding the area.
I was pretty sure it was a shooting and a neighbor friend of mine confirmed later it was indeed a narcotic related homicide. When I got home Hubby was still out having drinks with the guys. So I got in bed and thought I'd be able to fall asleep in minutes. The police tape didn't even phase me... or so I thought?
An hour later my heart was pounding out of my chest and I was so jumpy that even the sound of the air conditioner turning down made me gasp. I called Hubby to get his E.T.A and when I stood up I felt like I weighed 300 pounds and my head wasn't attached to my body. I felt loopy and out of it and as if I had actually had 6 margaritas instead of 1.
It really freaked me out and to be honest, as independent a woman I consider myself to be, I honestly could not wait for Hubby to come home. I'm sorry this is such a bummer post but I'm wondering if what happened last night was a legitimate anxiety attack or a sign that it is in fact time to move out of my beloved bohemian ghetto.
In other, more uplifting news I've got a jam packed August ahead of me. A bachelorette party for one of my oldest friends, a bridal shower for one of my newer friends, (who I absolutely adore and couldn't be happier for,) a week long trip to Maine with my inlaws and cousins and a trip to Big Sur for labor day weekend. Stay tuned for (what I hope will be) more interesting and wacky adventures from your now anxiety ridden formerbutsoontobecurrentvalleygirl.
Happy Friday.
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