All I needed was peanut butter and bleach. Not together, mind you, but that was the list. I’m not sure how long I stood staring at the shelves, but when I snapped to, I thought, dayamn… I just had a petit mal seizure in the peanut butter aisle.
That’s what happens when you’re preoccupied with thoughts both fearful and fantastic. Suddenly, it’s not so much a matter of “what if I…?” and more of a “when can I…?”