I guess I'm starting to get a little nervous. That's probably not the correct word, though. Whatever the word is, I've found myself in a pretty deep funk for the last couple of days.

I need a good word for preemptive depression. I bet such a word exists.

Wait, I suppose it could have been the 48 hours of relentless rain that dampened my mood.

Nope, I'm sure it wasn't the rain. It was the stuff that caused it. The fucking stuff.

A hint now, a mention then, an insinuation every so often. That fucking stuff.

Nothing certain. Nothing that couldn't be rescinded if circumstances changed. Though I don't think anything that formal would ever happen. That would be really out of character. I think that the hints and the insinuations and the mentions would simply stop.

I'd take that. Easier for everyone involved to just pretend that the stuff never happened.

And if it doesn't stop? If the stuff continues and the thing really and truly takes place?

Well, that will suck. But only for me. And I keep saying that I'm not important. Maybe, by the time the thing happens, I'll even remember why I keep saying that.