Ride on, Ride on

I haven't slept well for three days.

On the night of my birthday, the cab that was taking me back to Brooklyn pealed away with my guitar still in the trunk. With the help of K. we have called every cab company in the city. We've called every police precinct. We've filed reports and frantically paced.

I woke with a startle at 3:30 am and started scrubbing the tile in my shower, just trying to get rid of the nervous energy. I feel disoriented and foggy and unable to breathe or swallow.

I am worried about black swan. I feel sick to my stomach, to my head, to my crawling skin. I want to claw at the walls, claw at my ears, my face, my eyes. I want to curl into a ball and cry until there is no moisture left in my body.
I can't though. I can't get a single tear to come. I just feel empty and numb and disjointed.

I don't know what to do.


"Ride on, Ride on Friends of the black swan. Ride on Ride on. Do you know where she's gone?"- Tori Amos' Black Swan