Pressure.

Pressure is building up in my chest. It's a fuming, rumbling thing. It drives me towards choices I'd ordinarily not make, and leaves me feeling crazy with frustration. The frustration is often over stupid things-- not getting a reply to an e-mail, for instance-- but it overwhelms me and causes me to be focused on whatever the stupid thing is until there is resolution. If the resolution doesn't come, the fuming rumbling builds upon itself, packing tighter and tighter. Coils of discontent.

At this same time, I've got other signs that the mania isn't totally under control. I kind of admire my illness sometimes. It is able to break through even the most staunch stronghold and shine its crazy light on me.