forming a heart in the air

I've been having one of those weeks where I don't even notice that the ground is starting to crumble away around me until I'm suddenly standing at the edge of a precipice staring down into a bottomless and terrible space. And I guess it's unimaginative of me to immerse myself in mundanities when I have weeks like this, but there it is, and here I am, walking dogs and writing useful databases and washing dishes and changing out the faucets on my bathroom sink with a profound gratitude that these things can keep me grounded. I am employing these practical works as talismans, which is a dumb thing to do, but I tell you what, I have so little control over the big things that when they start closing in, I'm glad to have some unimportant stuff to force to my will. Take that, troublesome Dlookup statement! Hey, corroded bathroom faucet, you thought you were so clever, but I was just waiting for my chance, and now I have you!

:::

Listen, though, it's not just about me. People I love are having a hard time this week, and I haven't been able to help, because the things that are happening can't be helped, only survived; consequently, I've been floundering. And I was listening to the Mountain Goats tonight, playing over the rain and the dogs chewing on things they really oughtn't have, but what the hell, it won't kill them to ingest a little cardboard, right, and a song started playing and I was frozen in place with my heart in my throat (as any fan will tell you, this is a common byproduct of listening to John Darnielle):

( I Corinthians 13: 8-10 )

The irony's not lost on me, okay? But I have to admit it: I do take comfort in tiny, futile gestures. I honestly do. I only hope that the people I love do, too.