Stress. Lots of it. It fills all of the corners of life and clutters the walking spaces.
It’s not my stress, mind you.
Pretty much everyone with a daily presence in my life has bombs dropping all over their personal landscapes. I’ve successfully not taken on anyone else’s problems (listen, sure, offer advice, noodle things out with them, but the problems are their problems), but I’ve been finding that the constant awareness of strain is wearing. Clearly I should be a hermit … but then I’d have to take breaks to the local pub to get my social fix, and where would my hermitage be then? Besides, so few Edwardian gardens have openings for a good hermit anymore.
Anyway. Naught to be done on that score but hold the course and continue to try to divorce my energy levels from everyone else’s. I may or may not be able to do that, but I’m closer than I’ve ever been.
In other news, Libby, you were oddly passive in my dream last night.
Crossposted from Epinephrine & Sophistry