When I'm averaging 5-6 hours of sleep a night and yet need to step up and deliver, it's as though my brain delivers a great rush of adrenalin. A hyped up high. I think at 100 mph, talk nearly as fast and burn through work at supersonic speed. I get frustrated at delays, impatient.
I feel almost superhuman. But as with all these things it comes at a cost - the risk of burn out.
This is how it feels:
Too Close to the Sun
And then I feel that this is the thing. The overriding thing. The state of being everything thing. The great granite monolith, the burgeoning sun. And sometimes it's a you and sometimes it's a that, but what it always is, is a blurring. It's the wave that crashes over the sea wall, the weed that chokes the native oak, the floodlight that overpowers the stars. It's a spreading inexorable crimson tide that fills me to the point of nauseation. It's a supersonic curse. I'm transfixed on a starlit point, all my appetites consumed. It's the words that I speak, the thoughts that I think. It's everything.
Singed wings, dripping wax. I smell burning and the skies recede. Too high, too far, too fast and fear grips.
Fear of falling.