I'm worried about just about everything

Last night, Jeff and I were up at three until four.  Jeff announced he couldn't sleep because he kept hearing the irritating line from Tommy (HOW do you think he does it? I don't know--line), which, of  course, means that I heard it, too. So, my bleary-eyed state at eight in the morning has something to do with my worries.

Newspapers are failing and more to come.  I write for newspapers.  I have a book column in The Boston Globe.  I have built up relationships with other journalists at other papers. I keep ticking off on my fingers all the newspapers that have reviewed my novels or reviews over the years and they are gone or going or in trouble. There is talk that the library here may not survive.  The library! Two of Jeff's journalistic outlets have laid off people and one magazine was sold. We always rally, but in this economic climate, it's harder and harder to do.  Every job that I can do--writing, journalism, teaching--is suffering. If I thought about changing careers, the jobs I would think about doing (being a shrink), are suffering as well.

I, of course, am panicked. For the first time, at four in the morning, I began to feel that I was not twenty any longer. It isn't that I fear growing old--I don't unless I am sick and I have a lucky life full of husband, son, writing, home, book coming out from an exquisitely good publishing house with a brilliant editor--but I do fear growing old without money.  

I know this gloom and doom cloud will pass, that I will throw out feelers for more writing or teaching jobs, that Jeff will find other outlets.  But right now, on three hours of sleep, it feels like Blade Runner (being in it, not watching it) and that "I just discovered I am an android" feeling and the whole world changes around me.