I learned a new word. 

Perseverate. 
 
To repeat something insistently or redundantly. To get stuck, to ruminate, to loop back over and over. And over.
 
As in, “My 91-year-old mother perseverated.” 
 
My mom passed away a year ago. But I’m still haunted by echoes of her three looping ruminations.

Because if we opened ourselves to joy, well, there could be . . . dancing. And then how would we ever get back to the real grind of work?

I’m in one of my panics that always ends with me in a fetal position (and no, that is not a yoga pose).