Doom. Some days I hate the world. And some days I feel like the world hates me back, like I'm going to be punished for some perceived wrong-doing, at some unknown future date and time. When I'm alone I feel the world pressing down on me, like the suspense is building and you can't tell if something's going to happen or if the composer's just tricking you. I can't breathe. Maybe because I know something bad is going to happen, or maybe it already has, maybe the moment I thought would trigger it was actually the moment itself. Maybe it still has some building to do, some worsening. I can't help but worry, and in worrying, get angry that I'm made to worry at all. The anger and worry make me suspicious...of everyone. Eventually the perceived wrong-doing becomes actual wrong-doing and everything snowballs. I try to interrupt the cycle by looking for the good in ... everything, but the virus spreads and everything joins the first thing and the world is bad again.
