Sometimes, stress is like blowing up a balloon. If you don’t put enough air pressure behind it, enough stress, no good comes of that little sack of rubber. A correct, “healthy” amount of stress creates a beautiful bouyant globe. But too much stress, and the balloon overinflates and explodes.

Other times, stress is like playing a reed instrument, like a saxophone or bassoon. The correct amount of stress makes music. But if you blow too hard, the reed can clamp down against the mouthpiece and you’ll get no sound at all.

Inadvertently, the point I seem to have made is that stress blows.

The point I was trying to make is, my current stress is like an overblown reed. There is so much pressure mounted behind me that I can’t do anything…

The funny thing is, before I wrote the previous paragraph, I felt justified in my stressed-outedness. And the moment I wrote it, a voice inside my head scoffed at me and demanded to know why, exactly, I was so pressured. What is wrong with me that my inner self can’t take a little pity on me?


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