I'm overwhelmed again. It comes and goes, this feeling that no matter where I start or when, the odds are already against me. I can't even enjoy my Sunday without thinking about everything I should be doing and what I'm not doing. So I open a blank screen and stare at it for awhile. I think maybe writing for myself may take the edge off, but instead I'm thinking about the chapter I need to fix in the guide I don't want to look at, and probably no one else will ever look at anyway so why bother.

Basically I'm feeling sorry for myself, which is stupid. Everything is fine, peachy keen, and dynamite. It's just the chemicals in my brain going a little haywire, forcing me into cram mode for self-preservation just like in school when I had a deadline I never thought I'd make but I always did. I work better under pressure... I'm usually half mad from stress and worry, but I work better. No question. More focused, disciplined, but the trade-offs are a bitch.

In college, usually at 4am, after a handful of 15 minute naps, at my laptop typing page 5 of 8, willing the essay into existence, books balanced in my lap, neck strained from reading and typing, empty soda cans on my desk and at my feet, the sun nearly back, the dining commons almost opened, bone weary and hopeless, that's when the magic happened.

No, sir. I don't miss those days at all.

On the bright side, at least I drink now. If anything's going to take the edge off, it's that.