I feel right in the middle of a lot of things in a lot of ways.
I feel brainy and exhausted.
I feel tongue-twisted and around a steep curvature of the bed of a mountain.
I feel wonderful to be anywhere near a landscape, let alone a mountain.
I feel open-eyed and not yet eye-opened.
I feel big and small and all sizes in the middle at all the parts of the day.
At night I feel curved and tucked and tiny and wavy.
I feel at all times curious and all times busy-minded by my lists and by my curiosity.
I feel restful on the carpet.
Or with a book.
I feel smoothly and evenly tempestuous with red wine and coffee and sometimes tea.
I feel happy to be.
I feel concerned for most things and angry or irritated at the rest, or both, or all.
I feel occupied but far from conquered and only sometimes just preoccupied.
I feel little things for big things and big things for little things and medium things for most things.
I feel right in the middle of some questions and just outside of the others.
I feel the sunset without ever seeing it, the sunrise while I still sleep.
I feel loose, unbuttoned. 
I feel everything.