Anticlimatic Irony

I suppose the irony is obvious; although we laughingly credit (or blame) pressure for our success in meeting deadlines, remembering birthdays, and satisfying other relatively mundane obligations, in an age and culture obsessed by the health of one's inner-being, "pressure" is, in-truth, a very dirty word. Not only does this sinister force fuel our capitalist economy and its cutthroat consumerism, astronomical sums are spent trying to relieve it. Pressure drives us to health clubs, counseling, drugs, divorce, and war. Pressure, especially "HIGH-pressure," does not make a sunny day.

In a psychobabblic sense, I am most definitely stressed, or HIGH-pressure. I drive fast, jump lines at the grocery store, and rely desperately on my watch. I schedule time for leisurely endeavor and consider an hour of uninterrupted reading a luxury. When my kids fail to return a phone call, I imagine them the victims of unspeakable disaster. Meteorologically, however, I am the absolute bottom millibar.