He talks to the client in front of him, and
suddenly realizes it is not the same one he was talking to seconds ago. His
mind wandered off again, and he has no idea what this person in front of him is
getting so agitated about. Something important, surely, but what? He wonders if
he can piece it together without asking the client to repeat himself.
They’re all the same, even though they’re not.
They all have the same complaints, the same questions and attitude after a
while. They blend into each other in an endless procession of faces and
requests, none very different from the other.
And yet he doesn’t feel any more relaxed,
always afraid he’s going to fail at something. He couldn’t tell you what, if
you asked him. But something.
He constantly feels like he’s just hanging on
to the threads of his life to prevent it from unraveling. Always just barely
making deadlines, constantly being reminded quite by accident of very important
things he should be doing. He constantly feels like he’s missing something
crucial, and that it will be his undoing.
Always on edge. Always on the brink of fear. Always vigilant.
ResponderEliminarAdulthood....