I don't think of myself as being claustrophobic. But I should probably rethink that conception of my character, since the constriction of my personal space incapacitates me more than most. Take away a body's capacity to breathe and it is supposed to exert its last iota of energy in a struggle to find air. Some people, however, find a way to resist struggling. I find that the feeling of being hemmed in is more likely to paralyze me than to seek more room for living. And that realization, in turn, makes me wonder whether I need to start taking a will supplement. Just because Hamlet refused the apothecary's assistance doesn't mean that I should.
I'm about to turn on Monday Night Football to watch the end of what has, based on the stats I've been following on the computer and what I saw of the first quarter at Frost earlier, one of the dullest games in a long while. So why am I going to watch? Because it's still a scoreless tie in the fourth quarter on a field that looks like a team of oxen on meth has been pulling a plough across it for hours. There's a charm to the absence of points, small as it may be.