Exhaling Slowly

I've been following the wreck that is the Gonzales confirmation hearings today. I think it was Wonkette who said the choice of Gonzales is the "and your mother, too," to Cheney's "fuck you" to Patrick Leahy. Sounds right to me. It's so very, very miserable.

Also miserable, although perhaps less far-reaching, is the small animal that seems to have taken up residence in my chest. When I breathe deeply, something releases a small whine. About a half a second's worth--a quiet "whee."

Breathe: "whee."
(Shh.)

(It's probably sleeping. And I think we should leave it that way.)

It's Friday afternoon and I'm doing my very best to produce fine stories and be worth my meagerly reimbursed salt, but all I can do is wonder if I will be well enough to venture out this weekend so that I may further indebt myself to the demons who made me so very sick in the first place. This is a ride one can play on for a while at a time, one I try to step off every so often, but would rather not. I am, however, amazed by certain people I know who manage to never sleep and still be functioning members of society. At least of some kind of society. Maybe a secret one. That would explain it.