I've had so much coffee, and I've read so much this morning. I want to scream but nothing relevant comes to mind. Without that release, the tension mounts in my chest, like a baby heart attack in reverse. It strengthens, surfaces, materializes outside. I can feel the skin of my chest undulating like the tide against submerged pilings. Time is rushing past me like a stiff breeze. Moments are gone and I haven't moved, each uncarved second a lost opportunity. Soon the pressure will peak and I'll stand up, or pick up the phone, or begin some impossible timeline, just because I can't think straight for long enough to continue a task rationally scheduled. Action taken in the tempest begins there.

Ferocity gives way to grim determination, of all grim things this is the most practical (found on the hill). I've received my deadlines, my pressure from above. How much pressure can I keep out? A bolt-studded ROV in bathyal depths of work. I don't give way, I don't burn out. Deadlines certain as demolition. Escape again in a hail of bullets. BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM

Attention's buffer worn away, leached by continuous strain. Distracting pointed invasions of sound and light channel to brain. Fragile protrusions of thought reaction strike the environment as an unarmored elbow on the curb's bony spike. Clouds of apprehension thrashed into horizontal tornados by flailing reams of info. Simple point - I'm losing focus.

This is the last bloody mile of today's journey. I hope I've withheld sufficient obstinance to turn my card in punched and checked. I'm happy but I sure hate it.