In the first year and a half after I moved to Universe City, I held exactly two Major Work Events that actually happened. (I planned for several more that fell through.)
In the last two weeks alone, I held two Major Work Events.
Every night, as the janitor made his rounds at 9 pm or so, he would say, "Here late again?" and I would sigh and say, "I'm almost done, really."
And now I am done. Done, done, done. There is nothing left of me. I feel like I was drowning and now I've been washed up on the sand and I'm lying there coughing and gasping, covered in seaweed.
Last night I drank, and today I slept in until noon.
I am trying to remember how to breathe without doing, today. It's strange not to feel the pressure of what I ought to be doing when I sit outside in the sun with my chai, or when I chat with my friend J. over drinks and small plates, or when I stop for a moment to sort the mail.
I feel that background buzz that you feel when you have had so much to do for weeks, and then suddenly it's gone, but your body has forgotten how to exist without stress.