Thursday, November 29, 2012


I've always been very smug about stress. For better or worse, I hardly ever felt it (or recognised it); better in that I could sleep and eat and not have extra reasons for pimples, but worse because I didn't have the incentive of feeling better to make me sort things out when they needed sorting. As I've gotten older, however, my immunity has waned. At bedtime, worries grow like shadows, and stand tall and wide between me and sleep. By day, I can distract myself, but during quiet times, it feels as if someone is watching me, or something following me.

I don't want to go into detail because I don't want to jinx it, but there is something I want to happen very, very much, that I can only do so much to make happen, and it is stressing me the fuck out. I wake up in the middle of the night, and am besieged by worry. I want it to be over, but not if the outcome I want isn't how it will end. Stress is hellish.

I promise to let you know what happens tomorrow. Fuuuuuck!

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