Nervous Stomach

Tomorrow, Laura and I pick up the Belgians from the Chicago airport. On Thursday, the Indianapolis Project begins.
I'm second-guessing myself to the nth degree at this moment. I'm afraid of conflict, of plans that may need to be rearranged or of things that haven't been fleshed out yet. I'm afraid of making mistakes right now and I feel as though I'm surrounded by an alarm system that has those little laser lines that make criss-cross zaggy patterns. I'm scared to make sudden movements, but suddenly I look down and my shoestring is a fuse that is scooting faster and faster, a beautiful spark that runs and runs and runs, threatening to completely blow me to smithereens or to make an explosion so chaotic that I do a slow-motion twist in the air and finally hit the ground running.

I think that fuse runs in my stomach, too, in winding, constricting loops.