Larry turns stress into a person, a "she" who won't leave him alone. The poem reads like a strange, tense relationship: she follows him across the world, chats with him all night, and keeps coming back no matter how often he pushes her away. By the end, he admits she is "built inside" him, so throwing her out isn't really possible.
The speaker sounds worn down and a little ashamed. He talks about making bad decisions to avoid stress and then exploding without warning, which he compares to an overfilled water bottle. There's an odd tenderness too. When life is good, she makes it "great," and he finds that hard to take, as if even happiness feels like pressure. The mood is weary and uneasy, but also honest. The casual phrase "that's just how we roll" suggests he has half-accepted the struggle, even though it still hurts.