We're having warm, golden Autumn weather, in odd contrast with the fires of mental hell. This is day eleven on the trot (gallop?) of too-long hours before the computer screen and, around the fierce heat of resistance to tedium and exhaustion, the edges are getting very blurred. I'm a bit scared walking down the street: my grip on reality can waver at the best of times, and right now I don't entirely trust myself to tell a red light from a green.
Look, too much work is not as bad as many things - chronic physical pain, or catastrophic illness, or chemotherapy... of course it's not! But it's not good. You know that feeling that, if someone pokes you, you'll start making strange, uncontrollable noises? So you hold yourself carefully away from everyone, hold yourself very carefully together.