Drowning

To say that the last few days have been a rollercoaster would be to grievously underestimate how frightening, how pit-falling, rollercoasters can be.

Especially to the human heart.

I stood there on a balcony of the most expensive hotel in Edinburgh, illegally smoking a cigarete, in my pajamas, the events of the day reverberating raucously in my head, my inadequacies flying in my face and battering me like bats.

Encircle me, I need to be taken down. (new Tegan and Sara song lyric that is resonating in perhaps every single wrong way)

I stood there and looked out over the beautiful city that I have a hand engraved invitation to, and the only thing I can think is, I'm so completely unworthy and unprepared for this.

Please don't misunderstand me. I know what I do well. I do it well, everyone says so. But what this is is completely untread territory. I don't know what to do, and every step I take appears to be wrong, every impression is suspect, every instinct is rebuked and I am lost and falling and drowning all at the same time.

Here's where I take out my glass heart and beat it against the first stone thing I come to.

There are such highs and they are tinged with wonder, and then there are lows, that are probably not lows, but everything is so important, and there is no room for mistakes, and that is all I seem to be doing.

I'm trying, oh my god I'm trying so hard, but there are no breaks, and even where there is good news there are hard times, and why doesn't it ever get any easier.

And he's right here. He's here when I need him and he's here when I don't, and sometimes I wonder why he stays. Because even when I need him I turn away because I hate the fact that I need anyone or anything. Except Lucy because she knows I need her and I know she needs me and in our intensely private and exclusive little sphere of vulnerability there is nothing that is misunderstood.

And then there are mechanics, computers, phones that don't work easily - time differences, returns to offices that were trashed in your absence, trashed with the expectation that Salome would just fix everything when she returned, because that is what she does, isn't it? She fixes things. She can't build them, because she doesn't know how, or doesn't do it right, or her observations and instincts are wildly incorrect, but you know what?

If you break something, I will know how to fix it for you. Even if I can't fix what I break. Even then.