Buried. I’m more than a little embarrassed to admit that I think I may have hit my breaking point. Chagrined about it, really. A nice little dollop of shame in there, too. Because I know damned well that many people have it way worse. They have been wallowing in the vicinity of their own breaking point — feeling buried — for days, weeks, months, years, maybe even generations. And only now I have the nerve to hop on the bus to Overwhelmed City? The bus is jammed already. Standing room only. So let’s say that I’m shoulder to shoulder with gaggles of fellow suffering travelers, being jostled about by one pothole after another. Fighting back nausea. I am not at all prone to motion sickness, so this feeling is new. I want off. There’s just too much going on. All at once. And it isn’t letting up. So my personal water table simply cannot return to some semblance of equilibrium. I’m full up. Emotionally flooded. This blog h...
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