5 to 12
It's 5 to 12 and I don't have much time. I quickly rush to my screen, open my document and take a deep breath. I remember the circle breathing a yoga teacher once taught me. Four breaths in, hold for four, four breaths out, hold for another four. I get distracted and break the square. 

Four minutes until the guilt overtakes whatever feeling is most prevalent in my body. What is it that I'm feeling, I wonder. And if I can define it in one word, is that an achievement or pathetic? Man, my neck could use a good crack.

Three minutes until my words no longer have meaning; three minutes until I burst into a speck of sand, like the little particles I envision squishing between my toes whenever I need a moment of calm. 

Two minutes. I freeze, stuck in between wondering what I'm thinking and thinking it. I get distracted by the image of my thoughts as little pinballs, bouncing around my head until they find hidden pockets that catapult them off into the world as words and sentences.

One minute. If I don't get this out, there will be hell to pay. Everyone will know about it and tell everyone they know about it. It will spread worse than a "Which character from Friends are you?" Buzzfeed article. Even my grandparents will call me tomorrow, disappointment heavy in their crackling voices. "How could you?," they'll say. "We believed in you." 

It's all over now.