Phobic and frustrated.

I guess I'm dealing with some very mild form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or something. It might also be that I'm simply nuts, I don't know. But I'm facing this Friday evening in a not-so salutary mood.

Short version: a little fallout from my stay in hospital -- and the events that took place there -- remains with me, and I'm not liking it at all.

For starters, I still get freaked out when I hear sirens. That's a regular occurrence here; it would be unusual not to hear them multiple times daily. No matter; when the Fire Department is headed this way, their sirens are no longer background noise as they were before the end of February. As they get louder, I fall into a kind of flashback state, replaying the unhappy moments before -- and during, and to a certain extent after -- I got my ride in the paramedics' ambulance. It's not so vivid that it causes physical pain or makes me want to hide under the bed, but is enough to distract me from everything else.

I'm just grateful I haven't been talking on the phone or dealing with anyone in person when the sirens sound. So far, at least.

Equally bad: I'm still having trouble writing for work. The concentration that requires continues to be difficult to maintain. I can do it, but slowly and with more interruptions than I'd like. It's just not the same these days.

What's the deal here? I can come up with the kinds of elegant phrases I need to provide, but connecting them into a sensible whole takes real effort. Having dealt with people who had speech impediments or other conditions that kept them from expressing their thoughts, I now understand their frustration. Completely.

There have been a few times when, awakening in the darkest, loneliest hours of the night, I have wondered what else I might have lost, what other little surprises are waiting to strike in an unguarded moment.

I know my energy levels have not risen to the old "normal." Yes, I walk every day -- always at least four miles now -- but feel a certain lassitude afterward. I still need to rest (not necessarily sleep) briefly in the afternoons, still have a disrupted sleep schedule.

These little quirks have a cumulative bad effect on me. They have made me, to a new extent, afraid. I don't want to repeat my recent experience and, worse, they have left me with the worry that I will not survive any further health problems, large or small, undamaged.

More positive distractions might help, but they are in short supply right now.

But I try. Tomorrow morning, for example, I'll go to the Saturday car show/get-together I've missed attending for some time. There are always people there I enjoy seeing and hanging out with, and I might take a photo or two if inspired.

In the afternoon, I have to go to a photo shoot -- we're doing it locally, thank goodness -- for yet another story I have on my to-do list.

PARENTHETICAL IT-COULD-BE-WORSE THOUGHT: At least this article requires only my perceptions and ability to get them down in words. No research. I might be able to crank it out with something approaching my former facility. It'll be an interesting experiment.

I write these things here because what I put down is unlikely to be read by existing or potential clients, all of whom would drop me like the proverbial hot potato if they thought my "powers" had diminished.

And I have to tell someone. Bottling up the feelings and fears has not been productive. Just the opposite, in fact.