A Workaholic:

It means you can't feel the living God dancing on your back; you just keep your nose to the grindstone. In my case, I am not working just to work, or for the money, although I don't want to have the business fall into bankruptcy, and I do need the money. I feel like the Dutch boy with his finger in the dike, trying to keep the whole North Sea from flooding the Lowlands.
Women weeping, women suffering, women needing to make sense of their lives, their bodies: the way we ovulate, and bleed and have hot flashes and cramps, and breasts which get swollen, and how all these feelings and events and symptoms wax and wane by the moon. We become sure that if a doctor is smart, or even just wise, or sympathetic, we could do the right test and get the right answer, to make sense of it all; and to find our place, or at least be at peace with the yin-yang way things are going.
So, at the end of the day, having tried to deal with all the physical and metaphysical questions, and trying to reassure the anxious, and give pain medicine to the women in pain, and treatments where they are helpful, I am simply numb and exhausted with the flotsam and jetsam tumbling in my brain, along with some lines of prayer, and an occasional paradoxical koan (one hand clapping, one day without clocks, trees falling in the theoretical forest); and every once in awhile, an awareness of my own difficult balance on this tightrope which might look mundane or boring from some angles, but is endlessly fascinating to me; how it pulls together all the parts of the ways I know how to think, and instinct and feelings, and even what I have read and surmised; and tomorrow I will do it again… and also try to notice that the living God is dancing on my back…