Tick Tick Tick

There is a metronome in my head that clicks along each day, counting the moments from hope to despair to chance and then to hope again. The days fly by no matter how I try to hold them back, buying time for myself. I have very little time, now, to plan, to make arrangements and yet – what can I do until the very last minute? This is the position he has put me in.

I wrestle to get away from it – the daily routine of apply, check applications, edit documents, tracking it all and then, when time allows, relearning the intricate skills lost to the years of thinking I was clear of it. Chart this, transition that, pivot the other…moving data in a swirl of 1’s and 0’s that is, in the end, so utterly pointless as to be laughable. On the grand scale of life – and the smallest of that of your own breath – it is all nonsense. And yet it has its place, its demands. So you try to meet them.

A dear friend noted a very nice role opening up and I have at least a foot in the door and my paper under the eyes of someone who can judge it as it stands rather than what some HR AI spits out. I pray to all the gods at this point – whichever one wants to step to the plate – to just give me a chance. A trial by fire – sit in a seat where I know nothing and no one and fight against the terror that I will not be good enough as I once did…it was a long time ago…but I still remember the trips to the bathroom, bent over and breathing deep to avoid the tears that show. It is an act, that competence and confidence.

At least the bone-weary exhaustion has lifted a bit. The last few weeks were very hard, indeed. I managed to get a 2k row in, some lifting, etc. yesterday. It felt good to stretch everything out. Everything’s a bit twingy now but I’ve been stretching so much lately – the kind a child does when it yawns – almost as though my body was trying to reassemble itself into a new shape. I thought I’d give it a bit more activity to see if that served the purpose. And it was quite nice. How I’d forgotten the beautiful feeling of the Garland Pose at the end. (She has a nice modern way about her…) I love feeling what the body can do, the musculature in a harmony…once upon a time I was rather serious about it all…and I looked quite nice. I had forgotten…

There is a sense of…futility in the activity of life. I am a pessimist, after all.  What good any of it if I cannot work? Why bother? But I remind myself of the agreement made on an October morning, the tree and I. Options. Paths. And yes, some of them meander into the woods where the fog hides your way. A plush purgatory of  loam and leaf. The tree understands this. The wolves, too, softly padding about the perimeter. An acceptance of fate once the battle is lost and the ravens have eaten the crumbs you left to find your way back.


Time enough, I tell myself. Time is whipping around me, skirling and demanding. And nothing I do can hold it back. But if I grasp hard to the earth maybe I can slow it, make everything move to a different rhythm. Widdershins, widdershins, to spin it back. Buying time with little fragments of soul…

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