A dripping tap is the source of all inspiration

The dripping tap in my kitchen, that today became unstoppable, has cast a strange spell on me that caused me to creep back to music, like a teenager sneaking back home after a huge row.  I got a candle and my notebook, loaded up Garageband on my Mac and sat at the kitchen table and sang.

These are the scribbled words written in May that I found in my notebook to use:

you took me to the river and showed me The Bridge

you said you had to go back but I could go on to the other side

where I might find a home

so you left me there

by the bridge

expected me to cross over

all on my own

and as I climbed the hill with someone else

I looked down

I could see the trees and rocks beneath

was that my home?

would that be where I would fit in?

my fascination startled you

like a moth caught circling the light bulb

you caught me staring at my potential demise

playing with it in my mind

magnetised

magnetised

magnetised

It's funny that I should manage to write something (the melody at least) today.  I had a text from ex-partner, just as I'd got through a day haunted by the dream of mine that he featured in last night.  It seems our lines of telepathy were not cut off by the universe and its plans to take us in different directions.  This is at least a second, if not third time that that's happened.  Somehow we still seem to have a thread of connection, like the initial anchor line of a spider's web that has stayed intact despite a blustery storm.

And all this just as the platform edge was looming large in the frame of my relationship with the architect too.  I don't know how we'll pull back from it, but I know it'll take a lot of effort, and I'm not sure the architect is a fan of effort.  I've always been one to think that making an effort is the only way to escape the misery, but maybe the cynical Czech mentality here harbours a valid point, that effort and hard work don't always bring results.  Sometimes there are just glass ceilings that no-one can fracture and there's nothing anyone can do about it.  I suppose it's exactly those times in which the thread of a spider's web can come to look rather welcoming.

Entrapment and other facts of life

Being pushed to the edge yesterday and today has not helped on the writing-front.  You know when people say they felt 'sick with worry'?  That is exactly how I felt today.  I ended up having to reach for a hot water bottle, give myself a severe talking to about how I shouldn't let people get to me like this, and take to my bed for an hour's rest in the afternoon, in the hope that that would enable me to get through the rest of my evening's work.

The architect rang this evening.  I wasn't much fun to talk to, being that I am at the end of my tether.  Poor thing.  Why is it that the people we care about most are the ones who have to bear the brunt of the worst of our experiences?  I feel so sad that this is what he has to witness.  A girl falling apart under the pressure of work that feels like being stuck in an evil computer game, that straps me to its screen and keeps me there.

I'm just barely staying alive while trying to shoot down 'baddies', but the worst thing is that just when I think I can breathe and re-boot, another 50 lines of them come up and I realise I'm going to be stuck fighting for my life for yet another day and no, I cannot have a break.  When you've been going through a hundred goes of that process of getting to the last row of bad guys to kill, thinking, 'Oh maybe I can finally get some control and have my life back soon', only to see another 100 rows come up from no-where, it starts to eat away at you. You can see your life being stolen in great chunks by this struggle of mere survival.  And you just know, that this is how you will always be prevented from doing anything meaningful.  You'll never escape, because there will always be another 100 rows of bad guys to kill just as you think you need a break more than ever before.  And when you do get a break, it's only long enough to see the years of entrapment that lie ahead, spread out in front of you. There's no way out.

Please don't let me be right about this.  I don't want to always be right about the terrible, heart-wrenching, horrid things in life.  To the universe or someone out there, all I can say is: your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to prove me wholeheartedly wrong about this despairing, hopeless future that I see lying in wait for me.  Please.