I dunnae understannit.
A month or so ago I was feeling fine—no anxiety, no dread—even though I knew I needed to pick up more work.
And then I picked up more work, so: mo’ better good!
But in the last coupla’ weeks, I’ve had this tight weight pressing down upon and squeezing my sternum.
That’s not what I don’t get: I know exactly why my torso is collapsing, as well as how to heave that ho offa me.
No, what I don’t get is why I don’t do what I need to do. It ain’t much—a bit of paperwork, an e-mail, maybe a phone call—but I don’t do it. Fifteen, thirty minutes, and I’m done. But I don’t do it.
I don’t do it.
Criminy.
AbsurdBeats 