Stress.

I'm not talking about white collar wake up too early stock ticker stare stress, I'm talking about psychological pressure from within stress.

This stuff can kill you, I'm sure.

I sure know how to put myself through the wringer. If you saw me typing this right now you would be amused. I'm in slow motion. I'm not really typing right now. I'm in a disassociative state. It's ghastly.

I realized last week that the band I hate the most, Pink Floyd, comes closest of all things to identifying or at least acknowledging a feeling I've had since I, too, was a child, with a fever. When I was a child I had a fever. My hands felt just like two balloons. Now I got that feeling once again. I can't explain, you would not understand. Well I really don't think it's very brilliant of a writer to say "I can't explain, you would not understand." I might say that this is why I haven't tried much ever to describe this feeling, yet. But I will. I'm not a fan of numb.

But I'm feeling numb now. My neck has gotten a kink in it from stiffening up for the last 90 minutes. I may be numb but I still feel it. I feel spent; I've just run a marathon, I've just swam the Channel, I've just climbed up to the top of the

up to the top of the

building

and now I have to come down.

Christmas is coming. Busy busy busy.


- posted by seanmh @ 3:33 PM