Back in school, there was an alleged moratorium for three hours a day, reserved for athletics.
Of course, if you were mortal, this meant nothing other than that there were no classes. For athletes, it meant that there were no classes because you were training. You were training at other times as well. You were always training.
But. You're not here to deal in the fringe regularity that routine brings. Are you?
You want to know if I'm crazy.
Well, I am.
But as far as the specifics of this alleged affliction? Relief as to your confirmation is delayed. After 15 months of litigation, my side forced a settlement resolving primary custody of my son to me with the freedom to move, and multiple levers constructed by yours truly. It is customary, in contested trials, that settlements be reviewed, especially if there have been any ongoing issues. Which, of course, there are. By design.
So, while I am suspended in time for this last moment, I must pursue your patience. The anticipated safe release of HYSTERIA is now Labor Day weekend.
As time spirals out from the endurance of trauma, memory of the experience is modified. You lose the primacy of emotion in your memory. This is for your own good more than it is any choice you make. I have left what I'd written then to rest. I've grown into a life (mostly) beyond it.
And as my focus recedes from these experiences, so does my occupation of that pain. The asylums are torn down and time moves on. This is, ultimately, how the species carries on, no matter what.
There are infinite ways to give birth, and no way to avoid pain. Nothing commands your focus to the present moment quite like pain. But unless it kills you -- which I assume it has not since you are here, reading this -- it peaks and then relents.
It turns into something else.