The sky is the limit

Alright, I'm not sure if this ever happens to you. In fact, being the weirdo that I am, it seems unlikely. But, if it does, and you find yourself of a similar nature, then you, my friend, are in good company.

Sometimes. (Only sometimes). When I think about my tongue being in my mouth, I become all too aware of the limited space in which it dwells. Moreover, I wonder how it ever fit there in the first place. The longer I contemplate, the larger my tongue seems to become. Meanwhile my mouth takes on a 'no loitering' status, and my tongue can no longer find anywhere to rest comfortably.

It's a panic-inducing psychosis and generally lasts for a duration of time, indistinguishable from any other panic attack, until my attention is diverted.

This bizarre and vaguely embarrassing, 'ill-fitting-tongue syndrome' has happened to me, on and off, for a number of years. Publicly, I attribute it to the masochists over at Dr. King's Orthodontics. However, privately, I think it falls more under the realm of Elizabeth's emotional inertia. My family knows it well. Instead of imaging that how I feel is normal, and need not be examined further, I tend to take a distinctly contrasting position- this cannot be normal, and therefore is cause for panic.

And that's the thing. However ridiculous we may find this oral dilemma, we all have them.

Irrational fear.

And if not irrational, then inevitable.

There are two outcomes to the situation. My tongue is abnormally growing, and physically incapable of comfortably resting in my mouth, or, it is not.

One is a problem in need of a solution, and one is a self-induced problem, which naturally resolves itself every time, when I stop thinking about it.

And this is also how I have thought about Haiti. There are problems that are out of my control. That if in fact, they are happening, will need solutions.

And there are problems that come from within me. That don't exist here, and that naturally dissipate as I am able to outgrow them.

I think about this every time I get into a van to go down the mountain. The logic flows as such.

'The driver does NOT want to die either.'
'He does this all the time...'
'No one else is concerned.'
'Everyone goes the same speed'
'He clearly knows what he is doing'

And yet, still filled with an unbalanced rack of nerves, these rational defenses do not assure me.

And so I pray. It is a simple prayer. Lord, please keep us safe from harm.

Beyond comprehension, beyond rationale- a reassurance.

Faith.

Not because we won't crash. But because I've done everything in my power to command the situation, and it will be what it is- irrational or inevitable.

So far so good.

And I'm equally happy to report that my tongue is resting easily and appropriately where it should be, thank you very much.