Cirmuļa atklāsmes -

hours tick angrily in my ears, muscles tight, my brain squeals on edge, and then the small voice in my head steps up and says: hold on! easy now... no rush, sweetheart...
how could I possibly disobey such gentle persuasion?
impatience grits my teeth, the bone crunches and gives way, and I'm a bleeding wreck, filled with peace and confidence.