There is such a thing as too much.

Finally, I stood up and taking off my earrings, stumbled into bed. Curling into a ball, I burrowed into the striped, colorful mess of blankets. The room throbbed. Some giant hand was massaging it like a failing heart. My own heart raced and thumped with it, beating wildly, erratically. I breathed slowly, carefully trying to calm the frantic heartbeats. But I was distracted by my arms. They were freezing. As the cold intensified into shocking pain, I realized that blankets wouldn't help. The cold was not coming from the air. It was inside, diffusing from my blood into my hands, my fingertips; a burning, cutting pain that felt like being rubbed down with menthol and then walking naked into the rain. I huddled into the pillows, completely fascinated by the threads of agony spreading through my ribs, into my neck and all the way to my toes.
Sometime later, I remembered my panicked heart, and raced to reassure it. But I arrived to find it thumping calmly, perfectly cool and collected.