So there's this new, stupid study that says one-third of Americans live with "extreme stress," with half believing that stress has increased in the past five years.
I have a problem with this story because I don't think stress can be measured.
Stress is how you feel when things suck.
Your boss yells at you? Stress.
Your car has a flat? Stress.
Your wife finds your stash of Outlaw Panda? Stress.
It comes and goes — like herpes.
Plus, how can you say stress is worse than simpler times? You know what's stressful? The bubonic plague. The feudal system. Rickets and scurvy (which are the names of my ferrets — FYI).
How about when your Cro-Magnon wife gets eaten by a velociraptor? That sucks. So does wearing last season's pelt.
And then there's boils, pustules and fistulas. And losing all your money in the Gold Rush. Or getting primordial ooze on your feet and tracking it into your mud hut.
You get my point: Life is stress.
Look, the only folks who don't feel stress are dead. So whenever you're "stressed out," remind yourself that those feelings are evidence that you're actually alive — as opposed to Larry King.
And that's my gut feeling!