Soooooo......my doctor won't certify that I'm well enough to work. I don't want to admit he's right, but he is. Most of the time, in low stress, I'm like a normal person, which is why this is so hard. I feel OK most of the time. But the times I'm not OK, I'm really, really not OK. It's really hard for me to make forward progress on getting better, because each step triggers my anxiety - calling someone, writing a letter, trying to figure out how to get health insurance . . . all of it is complicated by the fact that my brain just doesn't process stress in a manageable way anymore, every little step of bureaucracy, which I used to be good at, takes five times longer than it should. I had to explain to my disability carrier how I was able to perform and produce, and all I know is that the only person I'm accountable to for that is myself - If I don't print the fliers, nobody is pissed off at me but me. If I put off sewing until the last moment, I don't have anyone (besides @MoeCheezmo) hovering over me asking about my progress. Not just that, but art is catharsis - it relieves my stress to really be Ruby onstage. For those three minutes, there's nothing else besides what I created, the story I'm telling, the reactions I provoke. There is no stress on the stage, only behind it.