Last week, my job was threatened. Instead of suffering a panic attack (which is my usual reaction; I have an anxiety disorder), I took the threat almost in stride, and made plans to deal with it. (The threat has since been reduced, it appears.)
On Friday, The Excellent Wife (TEW), with some immediacy, pointed out that there was room for improvement in my driving. Instead of the usual ensuing argument, we agreed to route around a location that causes her repeated stress.
On Sunday, I got separated from my group, and lost, several times on the Ride for McBride. When I found my group again, Laura OLPH was certain I was going to be furious. I wasn't.
What on earth has happened to me?
In the original movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers, people are replaced by emotionless clones. I keep looking for the trucks full of human-sized pods. It's the only explanation that makes sense.
(I also expect I'll be back to shouting, panic, and throwing blame like emotional Frisbees, any minute now.)
You're getting old. You can't be bothered anymore.
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