Personal Narrative: A Deliberate Distraction

A deliberate distraction. Such as, but not limited to, fiddling with the corrugated fabric at the edge of my shirt, making coffee in the middle of the day that would, undoubtedly, remain in the pot until the next morning, completely untouched, or closing my eyes and fervently discovering new, unblemished corners of the boundless, interminable universe that is the human mind (mine in particular). However unhealthy the aftermath may be, doing any variety of these mentioned can significantly alleviate feelings of anxiety, lethargy, apathy, and fear. These distractions are also, admittedly, the only inconsistencies that I would ever allow to intertwine with my rigid, polished schedule; without them, I am sure that I would completely lose control.
I found a certain refuge in them— my ferns in the hall, my tulips in the kitchen, my tomatoes on the porch. I spent the most time with my personal favorite, the Crown of Thorns, scientifically named “Euphorbia Milii”, who basked royally and proudly in my bedroom window. She bloomed in small clusters of six or seven rich, dark pink petals, with tiny yellow pods in the center; they almost resembled solid red pansies, though much smaller. As I cared for them all, and admired their beauty, as I always did, I was overwhelmed with the familiar fascination and relief that cured my weakening nerves many times before. The flowers calmed me down, and they kept me sane in the winter.
Drumming my fingers on my purse as I walked out to the garage, counting each step, I began to feel uneasy. I forgot about my gardens. I forgot about where I was going, where I was happiest, and I hesitated to leave. This was not uncommon. I began walking towards my car, and after the third group of four footsteps, there were around two left over. I walked back to the door and started counting a second time, taking smaller steps and successfully completing four groups. I glided my palms over the edges of the steering wheel, taking deep