It comes around again.

The badness, the constant pain, the autonomic nervous system doing all the things it would do in a heart attack, but no heart attack, so, yay, but it's hard to be grateful after you lose count of the number of times your brain Redd Foxxes you.  And it's hard to sleep or concentrate, or do much of anything except walk.  Sitting still and trying to concentrate are the worst.  Very little actual work is coming from me for a while, though, every time this happens I do get a handle on it faster.  I know this all came from the beginning of November and from Alfred.  I tried to keep it from getting to me then, and I think it worked a little, but I need to get better at it.  Eventually enough stress builds up, no matter what I do, to make me miserable.  Every time, I face it better, but every time I become increasingly aware that this will kill me, and I do get very tired of it.  Eh.  Sorry for whinging.  I have dishes to do, lunch to make and maybe there is some work in me today?  We shall see.