"Good news, Tom.  Your tests came back negative."
    "Well, that's a relief, Doctor."
    "So, tell me this:  Is there any stress in your life?"
    "Stress?" mused Tom. "Well, let me put it this way ..."

    It wasn't so bad when I first started working for the Company.  Every so often, one of my colleagues would just disappear and not come back.  When I asked where they were, someone would say they were suffering from one dread disease or another.  No one ever mentioned stress, but now, I wonder.
    As time went on, and I began to take on more responsibility, I started to experience a few very minor symptoms that could have been stress-related.  You know, headaches, lack of appetite, difficulty breathing, vertigo, cataleptic seizures, copious drooling.  The usual stuff.
    One day, the Boss called me in to his cubicle.
    "Great news, Tom!" he said. "I've got a hot new project, and I'm making you project manager!"
    "That's exciting," I said.  "What's this project about?"
    "It's called the Thanksgiving Project, and you're going to have a central role in it," said the Boss. "I guarantee you that!  There's going to be this great big feast.  You're going to be responsible for providing all the food, in one way and another.  You'll also be responsible for inviting all the guests and making sure they come.  There will be 142 of them."
    "So, I can make these people come, right?" I inquired.
    "Oh, Tom, Tom!" said the Boss. "Of course, you can't!  I'm giving you responsibility, not authority!"
    "So, how am I supposed to get all these people to cooperate?" I asked.
    "Project management skills," said the Boss mysteriously. "Project management skills.  Your drop dead date is February 18."
    That sounded kind of ominous to me, but perhaps I'm making too much of it.
    Well, the project was a nightmare from the word "go."  It turned out that February 18 was "Presidents' Day," and the "Pilgrim Players" were booked.  How could we have this Thanksgiving thing without a pageant re-enacting the original story?  So, I made my case to management, and they reluctantly agreed to postpone.
    Then the band refused to perform in the facility I had lined up.  Poor acoustics, they said.  That was another postponement.  Then they were booked for a Bar Mitzvah on the next date.  Another postponement.
    Then there were the food arrangements!  I would line up a good fruit, and then the project would slip, and the fruit would be out of season.  I must admit, I found a clever solution for that!  I got a special on some canned crap called "cranberry sauce."  Then I couldn't find a source for potatoes!  I think I have a fix for that, too, though.  Sweet potatoes!  Huh?  What do you think?
    But the absolute worst thing was trying to coordinate all those guests.  It's like herding cats.  Or sculpting with water!  Just when you think you have it, they've slipped through your fingers again!  It's "Oh, no.  I have to go to a San Jacinto Day celebration that day."  Or "Sorry.  My priority is Bluebonnet Picking Day."  We went through Memorial Day, July the Fourth, and Labor Day like that.  But I think we can slip it in after Veteran's Day.  I'm aiming for November 28.  If we don't make that date, it's going to impact Christmas and New Year's.  Can you imagine celebrating Christmas in January and making your New Year's resolutions on February 14?
    Anyway, after a while, I started having nightmares.  Or one recurring nightmare, I should say.  In this dream, my Boss is always advancing on me with a maniacal look in his eyes.  "It's Thanksgiving day, Tom!" he shouts.  Then he brandishes an enormous cleaver and grabs me by the neck, at which point, of course, I wake up.  Not long after the nightmares began, I started having the physical symptoms I told you about:  a rapid heartbeat, followed by a searing pain in my throat.  So, does that sound like stress to you?

    The doctor looked at Tom thoughtfully.  "Yes, I'd say you're having a stress reaction."
    "So, what do I do, Doc?  Shouldn't I take some time off for rest and recuperation?"
    "But that would be dishonest, Tom," the doctor said. "There's nothing physically wrong with you.  It's only stress."
    "Nothing wrong at all?"  Tom tugged nervously at his wattle.
    "Well, you might be a bit ... plump," said the doctor. "But, under the circumstances, I would consider that a positive development."
    "What am I going to do?" gobbled Tom frantically.
    "Why, get back to work and fulfill your destiny.  I mean, finish your project."  The doctor eyed Tom with what can only be described as hunger.  "Say, I'm free November 28.  You don't suppose you could wangle me an invitation?"