Every once in a while, I have a bit of an intellectual breakdown. It happens with a somewhat predictable frequency, say, every three months or so. I can see the warning signs--a kind of antsy anxiety looming around. Go ahead and anaylze me--I'm fine. I think it is a natural by-product of my profession.
When I am surrounded by things that don't make sense, and my mind works overdrive to organize and classify and otherwise try to find order in the disorder, the machinery burns out. It's kind of like grinding geers or burning rubber when you spin the tires.
I am depressing myself with the analogies.
Anyway, yesterday was my day of reckoning in this bizarre cycle of mental health. I dealt with a little medical emergency at work--nothing that affected me in any way, but it was unpleasant, certainly for the patient, but for everyone else, too. There really wasn't anything extraordinary about the event (okay, it was dramatic, but it was handled and then life went on for everyone else). That I should be called upon to perform my job in an emergency is not the issue.
The issue came later, when I had a revelation.
I teach Tribbles.
The trouble with Tribbles* is that I am a Klingon.
*I make myself laugh. Perhaps that's part of the pathology. Anyway, either you get this, or you don't. If you don't, try not to implode your brain trying to figure it out. Look at what happened to me.