Before this week began, it didn’t hold
attractive plans. My calendar contained
four days with tasks that couldn’t be controlled
by me – the type of issues I complained
about, when I was young and knew so much.

Anticipating waiting rooms, fatigue
from outside childcare, without a touch
of humor, comfort, interest or intrigue,
my custom is to fret, my habit tense.
But I’m attempting shorter worry range.

It’s taken years, the effort was immense,
but I kicked back and circumstances changed.
I would have squandered my anxiety
if I’d indulged aloud or quietly.