So much to do, so many things piling up to do, and all I can think about is what I want to attempt once i'm gone today.
I can hear the pounding of my boss's rubber stamp through the cubicle walls. He's being productive. I'm not.
I'm getting that fenced-in feeling again. It's creeping in at the edges of my thoughts.
In my head, I'm starting to pace. Drag my palm along the wall. Tap my fingers.
Accompanying that fenced-in feeling is the sudden impulse to break something, to smash something. Nothing too destructive, nothing too violent. Just the animal impulse to lash out.
I'm really okay. Really. I'm okay. Really.
[is this discipline? is this what it feels like?]
I'm craving an escape. Even if mental. Even if momentary.
And somehow, I feel guilty for that.
Too much to do. Got to get it all done. Got to keep those plates spinning.
Too much. Much too much.