One weekend we had a small party to welcome our newest housemates. They were two Kiwi architects who came to try their luck in the big smoke. As the evening wore on and the drinks flowed, I was chatting with Genevieve, who asked if I would like to go boxing with her. “Sure!” I likely slurred, then promptly forgot about it.
I suddenly noticed my heart racing and my breath getting away from me. I looked down at the page I was writing on, one of those things I would do to amuse myself while waiting, and it was filled with illegible scribbles, and not the fully formed words I was used to putting down. The hairs on my arms were standing at full right angles to my skin, and I thought I was most likely in a cold sweat as I was freezing to touch. Holy crap! I was having a panic attack! Me. Right now. I had a friend from high school who had them, which is the only reason I knew what was happening.
