Early morning tenter hooks

Dancer.jpg

It’s late.

It’s so late it’s early and I haven’t slept.

I’m on tenter hooks; that state of anxious tension that knots the stomach, that stops you from eating, sleeping or functioning. I’ve listened to every track on my iPod half a dozen time, it seems.

The Dancer’s been in touch. And she knows; she read my blog. And asked.

So here I am, in the dark. With my laptop. At silly o’clock. Trying to figure things out.

I think she knew before she asked, or suspected...but she did ask.

I hope she was pleased. Press “send”. It felt like my finger was on the red button to unleash a nuclear strike; but it was just a txt; possibly just as explosive. txt roulette.

A flurry of txts, but it’s been very quiet for a long time.

At least I know I’m not a dork. A dork in the dark.

How did I find myself in this state; with nothing but a forlorn hope?

It all started with a question. A question that was an answer to a problem. The only one to think of it. A beautiful mind. Then a look; a blush. A fine and delicate jaw line. A smile. An enigmatic smile on the scale of the Mona Lisa. Then the brilliant solution; thinking outside the box. Love it! Thinking, thinking, there’s a brain there. And such a voice!

Then she came bouncing into the room one day, dazzling, dizzyingly, having been playing sport. My world shook and I’ve been trembling since; nothing made sense as senses were scrambled.

Or did it start before that? A shared interest. Swept up on a wave on enthusiasm. We sit outside; You can do this, if you have that. Look it’s so easy!

But hindsight, whilst it may be a wonderful thing, doesn’t let you see the way ahead. Paths zigzag; post-impact subatomic particles fly apart; quark, strangeness and calm. I know the path I should take, but “should” and I never really got on terribly well. Should. I should do this, I should do that. In a box. Constraining. pah! If I did as I should www.pod3.tv wouldn’t exist! A maverick, apparently; willfully independent. I think she is too.

I’d like to know.

It’s the forlorn hope that’s gnawing away. It releases jets of adrenalin, keeps my mind turning with possibilities; luxurious imaginings from the merely impossible to the outrageously insane, sharp in my mind and they keep me awake too; keep me distracted. If www.pod3.tv is possible, surely other things are possible too? It’s the possibility that keeping me in this state of anxious tension.

This stretched, strained, deliciously hateful condition of not knowing.

Possibilities.

Early morning tenter hooks. I’d write the song if I could.

Mulled wine and mince pies tomorrow; later today. 

See you there. 

Maybe.