Diary #434

I have come to the unpleasant conclusion that the autumnal downshift from the hyperstimulation of summer is neither as quick nor smooth as it once was, which means weeks of weird moods where I mostly feel fine (and not depressed or anxious), but I don’t have a lot of energy and I’m prone to short bursts of sorrow.  Part of this is probably due to the accumulated psychic grunge of decades fouling my cerebral gears, and part of it is certainly stress-related, but the rest is probably just age.  Thanks to good genes, a mostly-nocturnal lifestyle which protects my skin from ultraviolet damage, and a lot of money spent on various beauty treatments, I still look a lot younger than my age (52 a week from tomorrow); however, my nervous system has still been redlining all day, every day since I was at least 9 (and maybe for years before that), which means my brain is probably the equivalent of about 104 or more.  I reckon that’s as good an excuse as any for being moody and cantankerous, but if it isn’t that’s just too bad; I’ve reached the point where I no longer feel the need to apologize for terrifying people who try to waste my time or make unwelcome demands without offering compensation.