Precipice. Tightrope. Whatever. And I’m More Scared of Slipping than Heights.


Now I’m standing at the edge of precipice. Or perched high on some teetering tightrope. This thing’s going to snap or crumble whatever it is and I’ve got to jump right or left. It’s a good thing I love heights, it’s exhilarating. It’s a good thing I like mixing metaphors. But that don’t mean I aint scared to the bone.

On one side is a future, however it goes, with a chance of chimp free (wishful thinking?). That’s the side with a masters, a qualification, a rout to an upward and out. Sure it’ll take all the grit that I got, and sure, there’ll be curveballs and swerves. They’re the things life and living is made of, that forge who we are and will be. But there’s brightness and the reward of achievement. With possibilities that sprawl on and on.

On the other is more of before. A wallowing waiting to welcome me back with its warm easy arms and forgiveness. I told you that swamp can get cosy, cosy and downright addictive. I can keep my head ducked down and pity myself and the long month that started some years back, and keep drifting by angry and restless. Or maybe even numbed into peace.

It looks simple on paper I know. Maths so easy it’s hard to get wrong. But uphill’s so much tougher than down when it’s steep and I’m more scared of slipping than heights.

   (And just how we got to this post… right here is where it all started.)