Fear rears its head.

Today, or actually the last 24-hours, have been, in a word, hellish. Agency life is often like having some pangs of nausea, but the last day or so felt worse, like appendicitis.

I don't often hate going into my office and hate being there once I am there. But I did today.

The reason for my antipathy is easy to put a finger on: fear. Fear is running rampant.

Here's the deal.

I have a big meeting next week with the CEO. (This is supposed to intimidate me and make me nervous. It doesn't. I act with the CEO like I act with everyone. I speak my mind and argue my points with as much grace, intelligence and humor as I can muster.)

But, like I said, I have a big meeting next week with the CEO.

Account people are running around as if the Mayan calendar were coming true.

The client is second-guessing their second guesses. I think that adds up to quadruple-guessing, but my math may be off.

Fear.

Now, here's the thing.

There are actions--positive actions all these people could take to mitigate their fear. They could write a brief, for instance. Or write a deck. Or say, here's what we need to do.

But no, they are all paralytic with fear.

Working in a fearocracy--rule of the fearful--is even more odious than working in a dunceocracy--rule of the dim-witted.

Further, it's no way to live.

It's spineless.

Senseless.

And, finally, sickening.

Like I said, hellish.