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hawkwing_lbI hurt.
It is just barely possible I did too much climbing yesterday.
Today, I have no brain, and a bucketload of irrational fear. I'm going to try to do a bit more work, and then I'm going to go home. I might go right now, except that I promised myself I would go running first.
(I've never understood anxiety, and the more mine recurs, the less I understand it. It happens after I make decisions, not before: it happens when I have something to do which I know I can do but which I am required to do: it is the nature of requirement which causes anxiety, not the thing itself.)
(Sometimes I begin to think that this makes me unsuitable for any work which bears responsibility, because every so often - like right now - the effort it takes not to turn my face to the wall pushes out everything else. It's paralysing: a pre-rational dread, coupled with a conviction of ultimate futility, and the only way to get through it is to distract myself, with good books, or bad television, or anything.)
(So I'm a little bit broken around the edges. I don't guess that makes me anything unusual.)
ETA: Too weak and flaily-faily to run. Oh, well.
It is just barely possible I did too much climbing yesterday.
Today, I have no brain, and a bucketload of irrational fear. I'm going to try to do a bit more work, and then I'm going to go home. I might go right now, except that I promised myself I would go running first.
(I've never understood anxiety, and the more mine recurs, the less I understand it. It happens after I make decisions, not before: it happens when I have something to do which I know I can do but which I am required to do: it is the nature of requirement which causes anxiety, not the thing itself.)
(Sometimes I begin to think that this makes me unsuitable for any work which bears responsibility, because every so often - like right now - the effort it takes not to turn my face to the wall pushes out everything else. It's paralysing: a pre-rational dread, coupled with a conviction of ultimate futility, and the only way to get through it is to distract myself, with good books, or bad television, or anything.)
(So I'm a little bit broken around the edges. I don't guess that makes me anything unusual.)
ETA: Too weak and flaily-faily to run. Oh, well.
