anxiety that i'm not made to be a good bicycle racer is tightening my throat. i'm hunched over the keyboard feeling the tension running down in lines from my jaw through my neck as i respond to my coach's weekly e-mail in which he tells me i'm doing great.
it's eleven forty-five and i should be asleep not thinking about tomorrow's intervals.
the snake was deprived of water for a few days because he was coiled up right where his dish belonged and i was too distracted to fish him out, hissing in complaint, while i replaced it. he's dipping his head in now to drink through the rustle of his shed skin. another obligation that waits while i wallow in self-absorption. i think i had another dream of being bitten by snakes recently. no wonder--it's a lengthening, coiling fear, then a sudden shock. sometimes i dream of being struck again and again, unable to get away. but i never dream of being constricted to death.
my dad and i have been discussing the possibility of my buying an apartment. last night i called my mom, half in tears, complaining about my work and not knowing what to do, raging about the situation i've stepped into. today my dad sent an essay of an e-mail laying out the steps to undertake while i look for a home, and ending with his calm advice for dealing with work. he reminded me that he raised me to know that life is not fair, (which i recall as an invariable refrain in the background of my childhood setbacks and frustrations) and that knowing that, we do the best we can without taking each failure or difficulty as a sign of personal weakness or failure. his tone calmed me, and oddly, so did the reminder that he will always hold me up to standards i fear i won't reach. when i was growing up i felt that he didn't praise me enough. now i'm more inclined to feel that his patient indication of the next step to take, with the assumption that one never stops striving to improve, is far higher praise than some encouraging compliment on something i've already done.