Breathless
When you sink down to the depths you surface again fierce gasping for breath
“Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody\’s around – nobody big, I mean – except me. And I\’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if
“They\’re trying to kill me,\” Yossarian told him calmly. No one\’s trying to kill you,\” Clevinger cried. Then why are they shooting at me?\” Yossarian asked. They\’re shooting at everyone,\” Clevinger answered. \”They\’re trying to kill everyone.\” And what difference does that make?” – Joseph Heller, Catch-22
One of the causes, and symptoms, of anxiety is a kind of excessive empathy. An excess that makes it very difficult to read or watch stories of people in trouble or being treated badly or being manipulated. The wait for the climax which sets things right can be unbearable – much worse if, in the name
I guess the trick of dealing with anxiety is not to dwell on stuff. As Lewis Carroll wrote: I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls, And each damp thing that creeps and crawls went wobble-wobble on the walls…
The aim of treating anxiety I suppose is to reduce the number of things to worry about from infinity to some finite number. A very large finite number, obviously.
To Infinity and below Read More »
\”Wind chill factor\” is a recognition that wind makes it seem colder than the actual air temperature. We need an \”Age Acceleration Factor\” to account for the fact that you feel older than you are. So Apparent Age = True age + number of chemotherapy courses (expressed as years) + number of surgical operations (\”years\”)
So, you can get anxious about not being anxious, and you could get anxious that you are not being anxious enough about not being anxious, and then …. but that way madness lies.
To quote from William Shakespeare (what, I contradict myself about quoting from wise people? Very well, then I contradict myself): In sooth, I know not why I am so sad: It wearies me; you say it wearies you; But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, What stuff \’tis made of, whereof