If I were not in the middle of my life, or a mother, or passionate, or a writer, or a artist, or a wife, or a daughter, perhaps I could pass these catostrophic thoughts by -- leave them behind me at will. If I imagine these thoughts as tangible, touchable pedestrians, I could stroll down a brick walkway and walk right past these strangers. I may nod or smile because I like to please. Or I might avert my eyes if I'm feeling particularly vulnerable, but I would know of their existence as just tiny blips of time and consciousness.