I have the feeling things are piling up on me. First time since Figaro got here that’s happened – maybe my Catholicism is punishing me for the decadent indolence of Lady’s island or maybe I’ve been a bit of a general lazy tosser lately. I have to find a way to integrate sharing my life with someone and not being a lazy whore. It stresses me when the things pile up, you see, and there’s enough peripheral stress coming in from things I can’t control. It tells on me – my organs are starting to hurt a bit again, and while that’s probably from all the fat-binging at the cottage I know it was stress that brought it on last time. So I must deal with the stress.
The thing is the last time my organs started hurting, I was under mammoth and remarkable stress. The thesis and its defense, sharing a city with my psycho ex, seeing various controversial people again and all the rest of it. This time I’m not saying I’ve got no stress, and that everything is easy-peasy, but the sort of stress I have now is the sort of stress that I can expect about 70% of the time for the rest of my life.
I’m not daunted – I mean, last time I collapsed and turned yellow and slept for a few days, and this time I just ate vast amounts of fatty animal and have what feels like a little tummy-ache – but I’ll confess I’m fucking pissed I may have to adjust my diet permanently and that I can’t just let stress pile up and have a nervous breakdown like other people because my tummy starts hurting too bad first.
Al-riiiiiight! Did you enjoy that literal little navel-gaze? Me neither! I’ll be back with substance tomorrow, perhaps.