Living On Edge

I just recently re-watched M. Night Shyamalan's breakout film, The Sixth Sense. He's one of my favorite directors. I own almost all of his major releases and lovingly watch and re-watch the ones that most people don't like. (So don't bother telling me how you think his films have gone downhill since Unbreakable.)

In it, child psychologist, Dr. Malcolm Crowe asks his patient, Cole Sear what he wants to get from their therapy. Cole asks if it's okay to want to not get something. Crowe says yes, and Cole says he wants to not be afraid all the time. I feel ya', kid.

More and more these days, I'm walking around with a low level of dread. I imagine that the impetus is fear of what happens next year. If so, it's spilling over into everything else.

I'm scared to do my first day of classes tomorrow. I don't even know why. Partly it's the snow that's coming, (only an inch projected, I know, but there it is. Driving through a double blizzard in Northern California has slowly killed my snow nerves. Or maybe it's age, creeping like a steady overnight snowfall.) but I suspect that were tomorrow a sunny day in May that I would be equally as queasy.

Again, I don't know why. It's the first day back. All you do is go over your syllabi, and I have them done. I don't know what I think is going to happen ... other than wrecking my car and being stranded in the snow, which isn't going to happen. It isn't going to happen ... It isn't going to happen ... It isn't going to happen ... God, I hate snow.