I Want to Wear a Hoodie.

I'm not sure if I'm ready for the shit to hit the fan.
Or for the rain.
Or for the damage control I will inevitably have to do, even though it's not me who did something wrong.
I'm not sure if I'm ready to feel shitty.
I don't know if I can stop this worry-train I'm on.
I'm not sure if I believe that it won't reflect badly on me.
Or if I believe I won't magically lose friends over it.

But I am sure of this: I could tuck myself away in my new house with my husband and my son and my soon-to-come little baby and I could never come out and I could drink tea and eat cheese and pickles and cream puffs and I would be happy staying like that for a very long time. Or at least until the storm outside is over.