Surviving Tuesday.

I drove home in the rain today. Real rain, heavy, sheeting down to bar the view of the roadway. Too hard, by far, to be pushed aside by even the fastest sweep of wipers. And traffic slowed not whit but raced and overtook and skidded on the curves abandoning all common sense while I abandoned hope.

No, not abandoned. I had no hope today. I moved through the moments gingerly and did my job. Conducted an interview, recorded an audition and made all the right noises inculcated by years of practice. I functioned and existed. I did not live.

I watched in stunned dismay as the flash drive suspended round my neck swung out on its cable and plunged, strange hi-tech diver, headlong into my near boiling coffee. Of course it is the type that has no cap, no protection but then who would have thought it vulnerable to death by coffee? Not I.

I pulled a playlist for Friday's show, about three quarters done now, to be typed and prepped and timed so I can plan and fit the features(including the one that still is not 'playing' right) into their places. The show is never seamless as it's live and s**t happens as it always does in life, but I like to do my best in getting all the parts in place and balanced to give the listeners something that will keep their dial turned to our numbers. Of course after one a.m. I am the only live show on the island so anyone who wants a human voice will tune to 90.7 if only for the pleasure of turning me off again.

A part of me is grieving. I am so used to feeling 'plugged' in and full of zest and now I feel deaf and wordless. Clumsy bandaged hands and empty brain devoid of substance. I've let something break and don't know how to heal it because the blow was unexpected and I didn't see the point of impact, lost it in the overwhelming smash of it. By Thursday any imbalance engendered by the new supplement will resolve itself but deep inside I feel fear for the first time in forever.

I fell out of the moment and stuck in a present filled with echoes from the long dead past. All the voices that told me I was no good, nothing, not enough, a fool for dreaming. I grew up in a time where teachers were not inclined to bolster self esteem, in fact they called it ego and something to be dismantled at all costs. Very politely of course, but any pretention must be suppressed. And I survived and prospered despite them all.

The greatest gift I ever had, was my father saying, when I turned up at his office on his birthday with fish and chips and an excellent wine, that everything I am and have I owe to myself because no one ever helped me. And then he said "you've done it all so well, girl. I am proud of you." I was thirty and my eyes still burn to think of it. I'll get through this. Feelings are not facts, they are just feelings and will pass. Maybe this is a good time to pull out all my deep dark agonising angst poetry and prose and blog about death and destruction and night terrors that used to wake me screaming. Or maybe not...although there is one'deep dark' piece I have always rather liked as it is so over the top it is high camp.

Tomorrow is a holiday, Emancipation Day, so I shall go to work late and pull a short shift. And I can work on that piece some more. Perhaps if I use a completely different theme it will come together better. There is always something else to try!