Your sofa has an edge and you live on it.
You don't watch stoppage time — you survive it. Edge of the sofa, cushion in a chokehold, making sounds that aren't words, heart doing a thing a doctor would want to discuss. Every clearance is a near-death experience. Every counterattack takes a year off your life, and you've decided that's a fair exchange rate. The Eye's finding is that this is not a football setting — it's your factory default. You live everything at this voltage: the typing bubble that appears and disappears, the 'we need to talk' text, the delivery driver who is four minutes away and then, somehow, six minutes away. There is no buffer between events and your body. News doesn't arrive in you as information; it arrives as weather, and you just stand in it. People tease you for it, and you let them, because the alternative is explaining that you have never once successfully felt something a medium amount. Other people have feelings. You have climate events. The Eye respects the commitment — and keeps one concerned eye on your pulse.
Get your read — free on iPhonethere's no buffer between events and your body. you don't have feelings — you have weather.