I'm trying to sort out which of the Fates thought it funny to throw me in a gas mask last weekend. I was fine. I'd been working on it, I'd been training -- but I didn't need to catch a whiff of those sickening fumes to have fears and disquietude.
What has, I think, left me the most distressed is the fact that I'm... not. I'm not perturbed in the slightest. Trudging through panicked persons and listening to the whistle and wheeze of discarded effluvium filtered away from my every laboured breath did not leave me distraught. I felt absolutely nothing at all.
...Except, perhaps, a tight, grating anger. The sort that seethes, the sort that froths and fumes and simmers...