Frozen

Fighting fear with roses, ponies, music and a protest

Frozen. Not in a daiquiri or Disney kind of way. No, I mean frozen as in deer-in-the-headlights frozen, as in ‘I’m Lot’s wife, turned into a pillar of salt for looking over my shoulder’ frozen. That’s how I felt on Thursday watching the stock market go down. I will be perfectly honest and admit that I had trouble taking my eyes off the train wreck as it was occurring.

The problem with working at home – and now with no furry office companion at my feet, just a husband juggling too many things on the other side of the room – is that it’s easy for me to get distracted by open tabs on my computer. (Currently that number is 51. I know, it’s not good, but we’ve discussed this before – it’s how my brain works. I’m sorry, but this, along with my chocolate chip habit and my night-owl status, are probably never going to change, unless I’m hit by a dart gun full of elephant tranquilizer.)

No, it was just too easy for me to switch over to one of many news sites I had open that were constantly updating the plummeting numbers. But all this did was make me literally freeze up. I was trying to edit a feature on induction cooking for an upcoming publication deadline, but I could not focus on it.

The sensation of freezing was all fright (“a sudden and intense feeling of fear”), pure and unadulterated.