The kind where it feels like you have a year of stress packed into one month? And these buzzards hanging out in the big dead tree behind my house seemed to know it. Some people, when they are under stress, eat for comfort. Not me. I'm one of those strange people who loses interest in food. It's not that I don't get hungry. It's just that it doesn't often occur to me to eat. And when it does, unless I'm out to eat or cooking for someone else, it hardly feels worth the trouble. I will even feel myself getting hypoglycemic and think, "Whatever." I don't generally realize it's a problem until I step on a scale. When I weigh less than my temperature, I need to start paying attention.
I imagine my resident vultures watching through the window in back of my house saying to each other, "It won't be long now." Fortunately, I know what to do. I started cooking big breakfasts and dinners for my younger son when he is at my house, so I'll eat, too. I stop for milkshakes. Pick up good beer. Keep cheese and crackers around. Make sure I have bagels and lox available. But more importantly, I make a decision that what is weighing on me will just work out as it will. No amount of worrying changes that. The people involved will or won't be helpful, will or won't be true friends, will or won't stay in my life long-term. But one way or another, I will be fine. And the buzzards? I decided they are just visiting because they like me.