Tell the truth but tell it slant/ Success in circuit lies*

I just dropped my stapler on the floor, followed by a large church history book which landed on top of it. The stapler is now useless - the metallic upper maxilla is warped just enough to allow no staples in or out.

When I left work last night, I found my bike lying horizontally on the ground, its left pedal spinning a useless protest to the wind. And now the wheel covering is askew and the basket points to eleven o'clock instead of high noon. In fact, in general I have the feeling that my bike, which normally has a reliably low center of gravity, has become a little wobbly. You have to point the wheel just so when you park it, or risk yet another topple.

Like the stapler and the bike, my whole life feels just a bit off-kilter right now. I am really having trouble loading the staples and steering in a straight line. I keep following the basket and it just leads me in a tight circle. I'm spinning my wheels in protest and getting nowhere.

Sometimes this slant is OK - a beret set at a jaunty angle and I'm seeing the world from a unique perspective. But mostly it's the drink bottle with the top screwed on not quite right that has been leaking water into your backpack all day. Just one thread to the right and you'd have a nice tight seal. Christmas is over, 2005 a faint memory, and I'm almost OK - I can see OK from here. But I can't. get. there.

Work's a little wonky. I can make decisions on the fly - in fact that's my preference for personal stuff - but it seems like the professional stuff ought to be planned well enough that someone else could take over if need be. It's not that way right now. I am keeping up with this three-week intensive program that has descended upon us... but just barely. Instead of being a step ahead, I am half a step behind, limping on my bad ankle, trying to catch up without giving the impression of having been behind.

I need to figure out what's up. Things are pulling in funny directions and I feel like if I pull on just the right loose string, everything will unravel at my feet. It feels like the ground under the Leaning Tower of Jess is shifting.

Or maybe it’s just all in my head.


*Emily Dickinson