The other day on the bus, I had to consciously exert control not to rock back and forth in my seat from stress and anxiety; given that my repression of such spergy expressions is so ingrained and automatic, especially where anybody might see or hear them, it's disturbing that it almost got out without me noticing. There's no mystery what's going on: work has been stressful and awful, and has been for quite a while - not due to my boss (who's quite understanding and sympathetic to being burnt out), but because I see dumpsters all around me getting loaded up with tires and gasoline, with little I can do to try and sway people into possibly not doing that. Multiple shitstorms on the horizon with few ways to affect the outcome does not my anxiety quell.

That some of my teammates are just blithely doing shit and seemingly phoning it in ain't helping, either. Nor is the cresting of a major depressive episode. Or the multiple anxiety dreams that've made me wake up due to the terrifying notion that I've unintentionally and unknowingly either let somebody down or made them feel bad. None of those things generally cause me to break out in pimples, or make me (literally) sick to my stomach; yessir, that's stress, all right.

The most terrifying notion is if I quit, what the fuck do I do after that? Am I in a state of mind where I'd be willing and able to get another job in the area, assuming I want to stay in tech? Or do I pack it the fuck in, bid adieu to San Francisco, and move away with little likelihood to return? (It was hellish enough getting an apartment here in 2011, and it's even worse and about twice as expensive now.)

And, as always: what do I want to do if and when I grow up? Assuming I can actually do what I want?