Because wallowing and stewing are just so DAMN satisfying sometimes…a perspective on sinking into the funk through the eyes of a friend and writer I admire.

Confessions of an Imperfect Life

I’m sitting at what used to be my friend Ezra’s desk, in our New York office, when I first hear the news.  When I learn about the “historic, crippling storm” that is moving into the Tri-State area.  I don’t pay much attention initially.  I don’t have to fly out today; my flight isn’t canceled; this won’t affect ME.  But the buzz builds rapidly throughout the 10thfloor about this massive Nor’Easter, and I start to feel little flutters of anxiety rising in me, bubbling toward the surface like the carbonation coming up the straw in my Diet Coke.

What if I can’t go to yoga tomorrow?

What if I can’t buy my stepfather’s birthday gift?

What if I can’t go to Hoboken to see my godson?

What if I have to miss my friend Sonia’s workshop?

What if my flight IS canceled?

What if I get stuck in NJ?

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