Last night I was conscious of watching myself write, of trying to form the words and of reading them. It was all in Norwegian. And I was using a red crayon. It was a bad night. Restless and tense. This morning has continued to be so. My body is rigid with anxiety. It could be the full moon playing its tricks. Sitting here, ready to work, is all I can do. I must face and move into the fear in order for it to dissipate. I know this. So be it.
