This evening, I was eating some leftover pasta that I had just taken out of the microwave. It had been in there a bit too long, and when I went to take a bite, a piece fell from my fork and landed on my wrist. I could feel it burning into the outer layer of skin. It hurt quite a lot, but my hands were full and there was nothing I could do quickly without making a mess. I remember the pain, sure, but I recall no reaction. Sometimes I wonder how many of our emotional outbursts and sensory reactions are merely a performance for whoever happens to be watching. Why do we shout in response to reality? Why do we swear over the simplest things? The more pain I feel, emotion or physical, the closer I am drawn to silence. Everything pulls inward, like a tortoise to its shell. The sound and fury suggest that things have not yet reached their worst. When quiet comes, only then is the pain truly unbearable.