I am fluctuating regularly forth and back again between feelings that I do not care for and those which I can not bear. There are occasionally fits of unexplained joy, mixed in, though increasingly forced. Each time I have one, I can tell that I am prepared to announce its arrival. As if joy functions predictively, with honest whispers to the eyes. I scream to my counter-parts that I am okay, also.
Difficult times; focusing on work.
Or, I am happy. Or, I am manically involved in any question raised there at work, fearful of my own possible or noticed or obvious misstatements; apparent lack of knowledge in any area; eager to offer my obvert version of truth; as soon as possible.... in the conversation, that has graciously left me.
My increasingly irrelevant observations matter slightly less and yet more than the civility in conversation that those same observations breached. Of the unexplained need, there was still the needed.
People can't hear me. I am apologizing while they are trying to tell me that it's okay.
I will go days without anybody seeing me.
Still.
Trying to work - working, ineffectually.
Still.
Me.
Days.
I would be ashamed if anybody at work was managing this crisis worse than I. I am a crisis expert.
There are limits to the training for specific crises scenarios. But in a crisis, you still get the ideas.
I have gone years; I will go days.
Who amongst us can claim the deservedness or undeservedness of living such a life? If we are able to briefly prove the value of our cries, who has the possible time to listen?
I meant: whom.
In a crisis, it is the whoms to to which we must address our unknown rescue.
I have gone years; I will go days.
I will go days.
.
