I wondered what you'd have on the side with a plate of Deep Fried Anxiety. Pickles? Coleslaw? Potato-strychnine mash?

I like that: a little pressure on the understood boundaries of yourself. Sounded like something out of a self-awareness class, probably with yoga. See what kind of a pretzel you can tie yourself into and press on the understood... I was raving, if only to myself.

He laughed, tried to make it into a cough, inhaled at exactly the wrong moment, and then really did cough.

One keeps searching for ease, she did not say, and not finding it, till the memories of no-pain seem only like daydreams.

Yes, I am letting my own experience color my answer, which is what experience is for.

One doesn't generally look into mirrors when one is especially angry; one has better things to do, like pace the floor or throw things.

He will apologize, or I'll give him a lesson in swordplay he will not like at all.