Like a roller coaster, but less fun and potentially more vomiting.

Monday's weather was of the sort that people make iconic New York movie scenes about.

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Like this, only February, not October.
It was cool, but not cold, sunny, but not too bright.  It was Valentine's Day, so there were a disproportionate number of happy people in New York City.  Heck, I even walked through Verdi square (several times). It was a bounce-in-your-step sort of day.  The sunshine threw itself through the windows of my apartment with a dramatic verve that said, "I'm HERE! Let's go have an adventure.  The city is our oyster!"Ok, Sunshine! Bring it on!  I missed you, buddy.  You know, did I ever tell you that you're one of the things that really makes this place home?It hit me.  This place is home.  A friend of mine told me that I should be prepared to move, to follow where the wind takes me, but I'm not.  The wind blew me here and I grew roots and the sunshine, among other things nurtured me and this has grown to be home.  Watching people gleefully shlep red mylar balloons and cheery bouquets, I was suddenly very depressed.  Not for any reason that had to do with their cargo, but I watched them and wondered what they each did to get to stay here in this neighborhood to which I've become so attached.  What will I have to do to stay?  As much as my potential for achievement may be limitless, the opposite became suddenly apparant; I could utterly fail.  We may have to move and leave behind the life we've built, the home into which we've become so settled.  The weight of the possibility pushed the breath from my chest.That possibility is counterweighed by the weight resting squarely on my shoulders - the responsibility to replace my income.  The anxiety at the potential of having to leave now had a partner in uncertainty - will I be able to put together enough freelance projects to pay the rent?  If so, will I be able to handle them all?  Will I get a book deal?  Does an audience exist that is willing to listen to me whine for several hundred pages about my dead kid?Failure. Anxiety.  Uncertainty.  Terror.  WE'REALLGONNADIEPANICMODE.I later found that I had several emails from friends with potential job leads.  There were several leads, and several others pursuing them.Competition?  Oh, no.I felt compelled to act immediately.  I was already in WE'REALLGONNADIEPANICMODE. My professional life was broken and these emails were like duct tape.  I must respond!I found myself at a loss as to how to explain this to my four year old, who preferred me to read him Mickey and the Troll, or my one year old who preferred me to allow him to chew on my face. Neither of them relented (nor should they have.  What was I thinking? that this was the potential gateway moment to my professional future?  No. Just an email. It would still be there in an hour.) and I got overwhelmed.  My fear, their noise, even hair on my face, it was all too much.  I yelled about something stupid.  They both cried.I felt like shit.  Not only did I make my boys cry, it was for naught.  It's not like they learned a lesson from my tantrum.  I apologized profusely and pulled them both into my lap until the tears subsided and Moo told me I was crushing him.  I didn't want to get up.  I could have held them for hours, sitting on the floor in the last little bit of the day's sunshine.  But life had to move on.  Dinner to cook, chores to do, Moo had OT, I still had to go to work, all of this in the cloud of a panic attack.I managed to get it all done and get to work in time while anxiety coursed through me.  There, I checked my email to find that I'd been offered a blogging position.  It won't pay the rent, but maybe the electricity and the exposure will be great.  The ego boost certainly didn't hurt.  The palpitations were gone, but the residual shakiness of the panic attack was still there.  I popped out during a quiet moment at work and picked up a cupcake from My Most Favorite Food.  On the way back, I sucked in deep breaths of cold air - the weather had changed to the sort they don't mention in movies (except those that feature Santa.  He's not in the movie version of my life).  Cupcake in hand, I was fairly certain it would warm up again soon enough.