Public Bloodletting©

I hit a snag this afternoon.

I'm doing a story on a photographer from Minneapolis, I can't say what the story is for, but part of it required me to look at some of his work.

One set of photographs was from a funeral, and for some reason, they struck a nerve I thought I had made numb some time ago, and before I could stop myself, I had let myself be drug back to some painful memories of things I thought I had wiped from my memory.

Sometimes nightmares catch you when your eyes are wide open.

So I left my desk so that no one could see in case I lost control. I put on my coat and went out on the 10th floor balcony, where I could hide in plain sight as I so often find myself doing.

There was a putter, a few golf balls, and a miniature "green" set up for anyone wanting to practice their short game with the White House in view. I hit a ball, missed wide, and put it all back. I shouldn't be bearing a device that could easily become an implement of death when I'm in a mood like that.

I stood at the railing and stared at the empty pavement below. The idea of jumping did cross my mind, it does every time I walk out there, but it doesn't worry me. Mostly it's out of curiousity over how big a mess it would create, not over some desperate, pathetic desire to escape my problems.

I've seen what happens when that route is taken, and I have no intention of chasing anyone down it.

The beauty of the balcony is the tranquility it provides by letting you look at the chaos being experienced by everyone else in what, as far as you can tell at the moment, is the entire world. You just stand there as sheer anarchy flows beneath you, and it is peaceful in the strangest way.

Your problems shrink. The fury they had seemed to hold beforehand evaporates and once again you control your world, at least for a little while.

I turned away from the railing and stepped inside, and walked back to my desk after putting my coat away and I started writing again.

I'm in control.

And I'm doing just fine.