ANXIETY by Bonnie Schell I woke up one morning and all of my stuff had been stolen and replaced by exact duplicates. –Steven Wright I woke up one night to sirens and went to the front porch. Paramedics had stopped outside my house. I turned off the lights to signal they should leave because I had not called – had I? This is a nice place to live but you wouldn’t want to disappear here. Police only look after 72 hours. If you don’t reappear, well-meaning people go through your closets wondering why all your white blouses are used, stained with coffee, and missing a button at the waistline. They put them in the Goodwill box. You trace them down and buy them back. Through the corner of the drapes I see the paramedics writing on clipboards. They may have come because I failed to show for a peace and freedom march, waiting instead for green slant-eyed creatures to take us up for probing or brave curly-haired heroes to return our magic ring. I see the paramedics climb back into their cab, hear the sirens wail, a tire screech; it is someone else who is on fire. When we hear sirens, our hearts clench hoping we are not the one to disappear. I asked the doctor if pills could help, So I tried them, and waking up, all my old anxieties were replaced by new ones.