I am freaking out right now. Why, you ask? There was a bug in my apartment, which I had to kill. A rational level of disgust, discomfort, or fear is warranted around creepy crawlies. A spiral into needing to clean my entire apartment and being convinced that this one bug is going to give my daughter a terrible illness? Probably not. At least I'm trying to convince myself that it isn't. It's not, right? Haha. I am so spun up that I can think of nothing but cleaning my apartment, and how I am a terrible mother because it needs to be cleaned in the first place. I've been so depressed that things are not in the shape they should be. What the heck do y'all do when you get worked up like this? It's as if my body can't turn off the response to the "threat" forever after it has passed.