Pressure cooker
I live in a pressure cooker. The temperature is low, I don’t feel the burning up, the burning out, not at first. By degree I vibrate, bar by bar my head inplodes.
A timer, a pause, the boiling stops. No, it pauses. Too soon to stop, the dish is not done. Steam released. An ocean, a mountain, freedom, escape.
A timer, a restart.
Ready? The answer does not matter, reality calls. Mercifully, the temperature is low, I don’t feel the burning up, the burning out, not at first, not just yet. Not just yet.
Ify