Hey friend, how’re you doing over there?
Feeling happy, thrilled, psyched, annoyed, tired, irritable, tired? Starting to wonder why the fuck it matters, or why it doesn’t? Having trouble sleeping, getting into fights with your significant other, kick your dog, snarl at your cat, want to throw that bloody smartphone through the fucking window because you haven’t heard back about that thing, or the internet’s down, or you can’t play GTAV yet, or Apple did something or they didn’t – and fuck! – everyone on Twitter’s telling you things that are wrong and how the hell can’t they understand that you’re right and they’re morons?
It’s a bit much now, isn’t it? You’re stressed, society forgives you, tells you to chill out a bit, your friends accept your apology. You vow to be better, to get better at dealing with your shit, and you tell it to the world.
You hit the wall. You get sick. Your heart gives in.
You’re dead, but you’re not.
Få saker är så stressframkallande som en smockfull inkorg, och jag pratar inte om spam här utan faktiska e-brev som du bör svara på, eller åtminstone behandla. Jag har fått väldigt mycket mejl i perioder, nu snittar det runt 100 stycken per dag vilket är hanterbart men kan bli tokigt tidskrävande.