I should not drink coffee. Honestly and truly, I think it's unhealthy. My hands shake, my brain sort of feels like it's floating above my head, everything is the smallest bit more unstable, my heartbeat makes itself painfully known, and anxiety is heightened one hundred fold.
After sitting outside Cafe Fiore with Jill and Paul, sipping an iced latte, watching an Australian and his dog, talking too much about housing for next year, we set off in the little green camry to drop Paul off at Pacific Place. This is five-thirty: hello, rush hour in Seattle.
Too many cars. Pedestrians crowd the zebra stripes, making turns impossible. That light is yellow, this street is one way. Inching forward, while Mumford & Sons seem to be screaming about raining down. Drop off Paul. Jill really has to pee. Where does this road go? Oh my gosh, bicyclers - please don't let me accidentally run you over. We're going to be so much later than we told Mom.
Heartbeat is deafening.
Walgreens parking lot: Jill dashes off. Turn off the stereo. Turn off the car. Pry shaking fingers from around the steering wheel to lie limply in my lap, palms upturned to the roof.