. 
Has anyone ever been thrown under an actual bus? How about cutting your nose off just to spite your face? Who are these people? The questions lead to dispassionate dissertation about forgetting the rehab of the stupids. Basically, you realize you're doing the get in touch with your feelings junket and you convince yourself to stay above the whirlpool. Actually, you find something you wrote while feeling overwhelmed:
The day we broke up I got the hiccups. It was a great distraction for the guys on my project who rode me endlessly about me being smitten. After the third day of hiccing and using all the googled remedies I started to wheeze in between hics. I sounded like a ventriloquist drinking water while chanting the alphabet. It called for drastic action so I filled the sink with water, stuck my head in but sucked in about a pint of water on the first hic. The reason I'm telling this is to clear the record about my voice. Just because it sounds like a bad imitation of Edna St. Vincent Millay is no reason to laugh behind my back
If that's not whirlpool stuff it's right on the shoreline. When all's fixed we'll resume. One damn thing over and over.