Exactly like clockwork, it’s every single Sunday. I can almost anticipate it now because it’s every Sunday. Like clockwork. Exact.
Why do I feel this way? I feel it in my body. In my mind. My body is in flight mode. My mind is a Bugatti, never quite finding the finish line.
It’s a weekly existential crisis and I’m both the interviewer and interviewee. Who? What? When? Where? Why? How?
The su...