Hardus

Inside me the pressure of all that I need to do thrusts my insides hard against my outside; I don't know how I'm going get everything done. It's an awful feeling. Yet, like a living-dead circus animal, I plod methodically on, ticking one item at a time off my enormous to-do list.
It's a sticky, clammy, hideously humid day that makes my outside want to go inside; pressure all round, everywhere.
A storm hovers on the periphery of the afternoon, also on the edge of life, but - very worst of all - there's an unexpected week-old cyclone breaking at my heart's epicenter; most painfully of all is that the storm's deadly silence is deafening.
I rip off my limbs and self-cauterize the endless, sliced and jagged nerve ends as fast as I sever them.
I WILL get back to me.

[The photo is Steffen's, and the vegetables are the garden's.]