The crunching is deafening.  Tiptoe doesn't help much despite my practice at this particular dance.  But always underfoot they lay, taunting my big laborious steps that insist on forward movement.  They are loudest, it seems anyway,  when I most need to be quiet and they set my stomach churning as my breath catches in my throat.   Those pesky triggers seem more to me, landmines, than eggshells.
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