Pressures.

When I’m really busy as I am right now, every hour, whether I’m awake or asleep, is time to work.

This is something the terrorists of timesheets will never understand.

You work on your way to the urinal, rewriting dialogue, framing an argument. You work on the bus coming home and going to, jerry-rigging a set up so I can get online while in-transit. I work, of course who doesn’t, in the shower. Perhaps most consuming, I work while I sleep. I find, at times like these, your brain percolates pretty well when it’s resting. Somehow the junk, the anxieties and the bullshit disappear and I’m can turn things over and over and maybe find something fresh.

It’s good feeling pressure despite what some stone-stacking new agers think. When humans first jumped down from trees many hundreds of thousands of years ago (or about six thousand if you’re a Republican) pressure was part and parcel of our lives. We dealt with the pressure of battles, the pressure of finding food, the pressure of landing a partner. Pressure, handling it, is what we do.

I cope with it by working hard.

By trying something new.

By concentrating, concentrating, concentrating until something reveals itself.

Sometimes, naturally, the pressure can get to you. You could plotz running for the bus. Or you could kick your cat. Or yell at your loved ones. Or drink. Or overeat. Or all of those things.

My two cents says you’re better hunkering down.

And working.