I'm having one of those weird moments/days of overwhelm. I don't know what about, really, or what causes it, but I guess it's just a general overwhelmed feeling about being alive and stuff. It happens every so often and I don't usually get it too badly, but I guess there's some kind of a routine to it. I would say it sort of bubbles up, like I'm just a bit gently carbonated, at least once a month. It's an unnerving feeling. Like I'm not doing enough and like what I'm doing isn't enough and like I'm not BEING enough somehow. Like I am intrinsically not enough. Like everything is a try, an attempt that doesn't really go anywhere. Like when you try to run in water. Your legs feel like they're in slow motion. You just can't run.

I don't understand it, because it's not a useful feeling. It's just a pointless anxiety poking me in the stomach. What is it there for? Is it a goblin come to trade something for a hypothetical first born? And by the way, if you promise a goblin or other villain your first born and then never reproduce, do you win? Maybe that's what I should do then, metaphorically. Take my promise of something that will never exist, unpleasant feeling, and go away.

I know that I am fine, I know that I am happy with things I do and things I am, and I know that strawberries and sandwiches and birds exist. I know that I'm good at rearranging objects. I know that my hair is soft and that sunsets occur every day. I know that cleaning a dirty floor can be very satisfying. I know that I can walk and drink water, and that both feel refreshing. I know that there is endless music and endless time to discover it. I know that I have proved to myself that I am 'enough' a thousand times already. I know that I am more than trepidation and uncertainty and concern. I know that I am alive, and that is adequate.

Also, I have heart-shaped hair clips and drawings of cats, so that's something.

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Thank you so much for your comments, especially if they include limericks about skeletons.