These days, all I seem to be doing is comforting my brother’s anxieties. I use song, verbal repetition, internet search engines, and acting. The word “stitch” is nagging at me while I write this. I stitch away at his anxieties. Maybe because stitching is a movement of obsessive focused repetition. Anxiety tears you apart. There’s a woman who keeps looking for breast cancer, she looks for breast cancer on her face. Anxiety tears your body apart. I know it well, my mouth twitches two inches away from my face, my knee shakes, even sweat escapes from places unimaginable. “A Grin Without a Cat.‘