I feel like some calm, but strong, invisible hand is gently squeezing my trachea and bronchi where they meet, making it hard to feel like I'm breathing as deeply as I should. I think this is what they call asthma. I'm sure it's allergy-related, further agitated by air pollution and anxiety.
Yeah, anxiety: I'm going to interview people for some little writing pieces. I am, of course, terrified of doing so, and my head is adept at making up reasons to put it off. None of them are good reasons, but I'm not good at convincing myself of the superiority of sucking it up. It shouldn't be hard--I just have a few questions to elicit enough for a <150-word, positive profile; it's basically free publicity for these business owners. For a lot of reasons, I can't squirrel out of it, much as my defense mechanism-addled brain wants to. I know this is beyond stupid. I know that once I actually DO it, I'll be glad I did. I just have a very active, phobia-fueled imagination.
Besides which, I absolutely need the money. That ought to be enough to compel me. Stupid phobia.
By the way, the job market? Sucks.
There goes the invisible hand again...