I've been thinking about the last straw that broke the camel's back. I've been picturing it a lot. I wonder what my last straw is, what it will be. I wonder sometimes if I already broke my back, but forgot to notice. I know I've broken it a few times already and it feels like every year there are more occasions, more days, when I am left broken, exhausted.
Usually, if I wake up less than happy, it's a sign that the last straw is coming right at me like a flying cockroach. It makes me wonder how often we collapse, how often we need to collapse to retain our sanity. There is the kind of hurt that puts your teeth on edge, and then there is the kind of exhausted hurt that crumples you like a worn-out tear-stained pillowcase.
It makes you wonder if being adult requires a regular dose of anxiety.
We should all allow each other to breathe more often. Being adult (but not adult enough) feels like not breathing and exhaling once every ten days or so. It feels like balancing on a narrow curb like you used to when you were a child and suddenly remembering you're not a child anymore and you're just...balancing. On worse days, last-straw days, it feels like a dream in which you suffocate.
It's probably the only way to appreciate a good night's sleep I suppose.