I remember a herbalist telling me once that my heartbeat was like a tight guitar string. I am taut. My body is rigid. What’s wrong? he asks in his soft, still-in-bed voice. And I snap. I haven’t spoken to anyone for four hours and during that time (since getting up) I’ve got more and more tense. His concern makes me snarl. I can’t tell you. I shout. Wanting him to understand but not making myself at all clear. I cannot say what it is. It is all and everything. And all I can do is wait for it to pass. Whatever it is. Fear. Uncertainty, which is much the same thing. Wanting to run, to sleep, to do anything but bring myself here to this desk to work. So be it. The sun is beginning to show. The day must be lived, like the next and the next. Until there is nothing left. For me at least. Amen.
