Eight

My stress level is equivalent to a roller coaster. When I say roller coaster, I don't mean the kiddy ones here on Guam that are about as scary as canned milk. I'm talking about the ones with the constant hills, mountains, turns, and drops that literally scare the fuck out of people. I'm talking about the absolute shittiest and most unstable roller coaster you can find. The kind where your heart begins pumping harder, faster, faster, harder as you sit your ass on the seat and wait to be fastened in. The kind where despite the screaming of others, yourself, and the thoughts in your mind, you can hear the wheels screeching against the metal frame, you can hear the squeaking of the unkept parts, you can feel yourself and your seat slip, slip, slipping off. You know you'll be flying off soon, only to hit the ground. You know that within a matter of minutes, you'll be head-first into the first thing you come falling at. You know that you were in deep shit the moment you sat your ass down into that seat. You knew this was coming all along. During the entire ride, up to right before you hit the ground, the only question going through your mind was, "What the fuck is wrong with me?" over and over and over again.

I'm still on the ride.