Wound Up
I tell you what. I am wound up as tight as I may have ever been. Last night, hands gripping the steering wheel, I looked down to white knuckles and realized my whole body was tense--every muscle compacted, on edge. For three days at least, I'll bet I've done nothing but short, shallow breathing. I can't relax. I can't sleep. Every night seems to be four hours of loosely strung out twenty-minute catnaps, and I awake from each one with an adrenalin rush and a raring to go. Even my voice hints of a high-pitched frenzy. Driving down the interstate last night, I tried to relax. Deep breaths ... ten of them. Breathe in ... breathe out. One. Breathe in ... breathe out. Two. Bre--hurryupandgetthisoverwith. UGH! And I'd start again. Killed an hour trying just to get to ten. I never got past five. I don't want to eat. I don't want to sleep. I just want to go, go, go. I don't know where. I don't know why.
It's like I have a huge project deadline (which I actually do) but that moment before completion will last an eternity. It beats the hell out of a week ago, but I'm not sure I like this either.
It's like I have a huge project deadline (which I actually do) but that moment before completion will last an eternity. It beats the hell out of a week ago, but I'm not sure I like this either.