i'm_only_stressing tender_square he was scowling at the tv as he ate breakfast. “is something the matter?” he turned to her and sighed. “you cut me off.” “when?” “when you asked me how long you should cook the mac and cheese for, 35 or 45 minutes. i answered ‘40’ and was about to say more and then you went on talking about something else.” “wait—say that again.” she was distracted, her mind was racing. “you asked me how long it should bake and i said 40 minutes, and was about to say ‘but check it at 35,’ and you cut me off.” “i don’t even remember doing that. my mind is everywhere this morning.” “i really wish you would make more of an effort not to do that to me.” “okay,” she stretched out the word cautiously. “is this something that comes up frequently?” “about once a week or so.” she raised her eyebrows. “but it happens more than that, typically when we’re in the car driving and i’m in the middle of saying something and you interrupt. but it really bothers me about once a week.” “i do feel bad when that happens; it’s not something i do on purpose.” he kept staring at her expectantly. “and if i didn’t already apologize, i am sorry for it and will try to be better.” she was consumed by her own thoughts, so lost inside worries she couldn’t even recognize him in front of her, trying to communicate half the time. “why are you so stressed this morning?” he asked. “i feel like i committed to too many things and there's not enough hours in the day. i don’t like it when the weekends are busy, when it feels like there hasn’t been a break at all. and i did it to myself.” she was baking the mac and cheese at 8 am that morning as she ate breakfast, a side dish she was bringing to a cookout she and her husband were invited to later that day, because she didn’t know when she’d be able to make it otherwise. but it was more than that. they were driving to a friend’s farm she’d never been to, with people she wasn’t super close to but was certainly friendly with. she was bringing her husband and she wanted him to mingle and have a good time. people were camping out overnight, and would be drinking and smoking, though how much, she wasn’t sure. would the two of them feel uncomfortable as sober guests? she wished she knew what time dinner was, so they didn’t arrive too early and find themselves waiting around for hours to be fed. she wanted to keep to her evening routine so she could be with her long-distance love, uninterrupted, for at least an hour before bed. she worried she wouldn’t get cell service in the county and be able to tell him when to expect her, and that she was missing him (she was always missing him). her face pinched and she dropped her head, shoulders heaving. “what’s the matter?” “i feel stupid for crying,” she said. “it’s just, you think that being social is so easy for me, but i get anxious about it too.” she wiped her shirtsleeves across her face and took a deep breath. “typically, once i get there i feel better.” “that’s the difference between us,” her husband said. “i get there and i don’t.” 220730 what's it to you? who go blather from