Today, you sent me a letter at work. The second I saw it, my heart rate sped up and I could feel that electric zing along my skin that meant I was about to hit a panic attack. Over the possibility that what was inside the envelope could be, somehow, my fault. This probably seems ridiculous to someone not neck-deep in it. And it is. Utterly ridiculous. Yet there it was. Sitting on my chest and buzzing in my ears. I could barely breathe at the idea of what could be in a damn envelope.
Anticipatory stress. I knew it was something that I experienced at an extremely elevated level so I decided to put the envelope to the side and not open it until I could pick it up without hyperventilating.
It took almost ten minutes (and multiple aborted attempts), but I was finally able to do it and, as it turns out, the contents were completely benign.
So, ten points to House Hufflepuff.
Sincerely,
Me.
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