My normally slow life has picked up speed and is trotting along at an unsettling quick pace. Meanwhile, my brain is clomping along and my knees are crick-creaking and my feet thump-thumping and I just can't keep up.
And it's all a mess. And it's all too much therapy and too much pressure for anti-depressants, anti-anxieties, anti-idontgiveadamns. Me? OCD? Not at all. Please don't medicate me for that. Depression? Don't we all have that? eh...
I've stopped running now. I'm sitting on the couch with a bag of chips between my knees, moving fist to face on repeat. Sitting there, watching my normally slow life whiz past faster than I can process it.
Coax myself to my feet, take a cautious step and crumple into a heap on the floor. Can't get up, too heavy. My creaky knees won't support me. Take a fork and knife and eat and eat until I've eaten myself away.
Save the heart for last, it's the tastiest bit.