At the end of my tether. But it is momentary. This phase will pass, the pulse will pace itself . These cathartic lines will let me breathe easy once more. Until the phone rings again. And I want to wring another neck. Indispensibilty rears its head, it wears an expression so bored. But to brace the race course again is to step into a haphazard whirlwind. The excited team cackle, giddy bubbles wayward with hope. Change is just a guise for lack of improvement, you muppets. Paralytic excitement about the future, leaving the present high and dry.
My muse wears a mask I think. He has become more me than myself, peeling off all the promise I had and wearing it better. I feel echoed, diminished. Nay, I feel robbed.
So much to do, so much space to occupy and step around; so little time to manage it. Two years of an em bee aye now ahead of me.
