When Val is anxious, she wears it on her face; she needs to talk about it, she cries. I am anxious about: insects, germs, disease and mortal injury and death, messy rooms, being late, not honoring my commitments. She is anxious about: rodents, money, her writing, her job, social interactions, conflict, people secretly hating her. “If I was angry, I’d tell you,” I’d promise her when she worried that I was squirreling away my rage until it exploded. Blame it on climate change (her anxiety), too many post-apocalyptic movies and video games (mine), and a healthy dose of terror about nuclear annihilation and antibiotic-resistant pathogens (both of ours).

Source: New York Times April 11, 2018 17:15 UTC