Dead Man Dance put words on a mental state which heretofore has remained ill defined.
It’s a feeling that we’ve all had. I get it when I’m overworked and especially if I’ve been on the road a lot. I try to call it “strung out from the road” but that makes me sound like a crappy Bob Seger song. Kudos to Dead Man Dance for an apt description.
Note: I don’t necessarily get fried from many miles of merely driving. Under the right circumstances like the road. A good machine under my control and an excellent road is the closest thing I’ll ever get to wings! (This is also why hippies and busybodies will never fully shove all Americans into buses and light rail. When you’re in a bus you’re cargo. When you’re piloting a vehicle you’re the captain of your own ship, shaping your destiny, seeing the world as a million generations before the internal combustion engine could only dream. To have abilities akin to the Gods and throw them away for a commuter bus pass is more or less a surrender of the soul.) The limiting factors are time away from home, erratic schedules, shitty food, and excess work… it’s a deadly combination and it’ll strike more completely when you’re sitting on your ass begging for a packet of peanuts on a plane as when you’re blasting a motorcycle solo through a lonely Wyoming windstorm.
“…more or less a surrender of the soul…” Yeah, I’ll be smiling at that one for quite some time. My Lovely Wife recently took a business trip to San Francisco, and returned with some grand design to fly (1) to SF (a city that is basically famous for hippies and granola and things that annoy me, 2) where we will NOT rent a car, but take public transit (3) everywhere. Any one of these things annoys me, but all three together and I would rather stay home and pluck my beard strand by strand.
“Please sir, my chi is low. Do you have any spares?”