My arms are all tingly, as if pricked by hundreds of tiny, invisible pins. My heart rate is elevated. My hands, clammy and weak, are no longer nimble enough to type with any speed or accuracy. I can’t sit still, but when I get up and move, I’m tired. I try to focus on a task, only to have my attention wander. Sleep comes only after several hours of lying in bed. What are these feelings which disturb my body, harass my mind?
I think I’m getting hyped for Al Jefferson.
If I suddenly stop making highlights, you’ll know what happened: my enthusiasm for Big Al’s success in Charlotte has brought about my demise. Don’t try to tell me that Al has only ever been the centerpiece for average-to-bad teams; the numbers he is putting up are raising my BHC (blood hype content) to dangerous levels. When I saw that fader and-1 right in Drummond’s ugly face, I blacked out for a few seconds.
Maybe I should go to the doctor. But first, I’ll just watch these highlights one more time…
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