[About meeting Tim for the first time at his office. A poem about adrenaline induced tunnel vision, which lead to a multi-day panic attack].
It’s not enough time.
Getting cold, wool blanket is upstairs
Stuck, sitting
Don’t feel. Don’t feel.
Crying could be elegant, if without stuffy nose
In Escape but no escape
Garage, stuck, sitting
Drive home
Sunset, rear view mirror
New, on sale, $14.77. Black leather band. Here, on a rack, watch face is shade of purple that matches my hair and bezel nearly matches my carabiners. I need to pick one and fix it, or just buy a new one. Dead collection of adulthood. Every wristwatch in the jewelry box needs a battery and a new leather band. I want a watch.
Distraction. Don’t feel. Don’t feel.
Physical pain is the near perfect substitute for the “being stuck” kind of pain
Travel the long way, like maze
Shopping, will push through the pain
Escape=ability to go-stop anywhere
I’ve stayed too long
Tim walking away
Being stuck, as a feeling; it’s not a place
35 minutes. Don’t feel. Don’t feel.
Crash. Don’t feel. Don’t feel
Sitting, waiting; stuck in park; no start
“The way out is the way in,” Motley is right
Desperately needed reinforcement of the familiar, valediction
Asking makes a hand offered; soothes the guilt
Transgression
Wanting Levi to rescue me, but trying to be small
Quiet fear
Avoid really looking at Tim
Awkward thoughts
Office Tim is not video Tim
I’m too much. Say too much
Did I do it right; do what I wanted to do?
Slide through merely pieces
I want Tim to know who I am
Space, smaller than the camera
Wi-Fi anxiousness solved
Twisty-turny maże
It’s not enough time.
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