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epitome of incomprehensibility
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How to? Don't just get caught up in the feeling. Think about why you're feeling that way. (And it's not so easy - it takes practice.)
...But that's all I can do for general applicability, unless you're searching for a tutorial on How to Mitigate Panic While Planting Cucumber Seeds on a Hot Day and Looking After a Dog. Oddly_specific indeed.
On my side, I was proud this time that I didn't freak out. Or at least only internally.
It was this morning while gardening. I'd already combed through the patch of soil with an old-school harrow, chucked some rocks out, and picked some tiny plants to go with my lunch - a few pea sprouts (the row needed thinning) and errant dandelion greens. This was at my parents' house, but I was alone; a few minutes ago my father had opened the back door to say he and Mom were going out on errands and would be back in two hours.
I was probably getting up from bending down, I was still a little tired from swimming, but I didn't think of those factors then. The panic hit me after I noticed a sensation of slight wobbly-ness in my legs, slight faintness. The panicked part of the feeling increased when I realized I was alone, the only person on that property. (It was mostly when I was alone that I used to panic.)
"It's too hot! The heat's going to kill me! And then I won't get the cucumber seeds planted, and I SAID I'd do that!!"
But I did manage to pause a little to think. Options:
-Power through this. Plant the cucumbers.
-Go inside. Don't plant the cucumbers today.
-It IS hot. Go inside for a drink of water, then go back out and plant the cucumbers.
I chose the last. Shiloh, roaming on his long leash in the non-garden part of the backyard, wanted to be let in, so that was something else to distract me. But my heart was still beating fast.
Luckily, another distraction: what with holding the bowl of greens in one hand and Shiloh's leash in the other, I tipped over the bowl. "My sprouts! They're falling down!"
That utterance struck me as funny. I unclasped and looped up Shiloh's long leash with more haste than grace, opened the second door, and went to pick up the again-errant greens. The panic had simmered down. The greens would simmer later. Fry, rather. But for now, I filled Shiloh's water bowl, filled a mug for myself, splashed water on my slightly fried face. Ate a handful of peanuts. Returned to plant the cucumber seeds into four furrows - two for "Straight Eights" and two for "Picklebush." Cucumber varieties have weird names.
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