Whirling dervish

This is going to the longest two weeks of my life if I believe this eclipse theory. My head won't stop spinning from the events that unfold every day, then fold, then crease and crumple around me.

Stop the phone calls, the three am ex, the ex from before I got married, the ex from beyond the alphabet. Back back - Nina stands on guard with a stake to drive through your hearts... if she can find them, as I am not sure I ever did.

Stop the wavering confidences and securities of my friends. Restore them to the safe strong people they always used to be. Stop the tears at roadsides, the calculating depths of their window falls, the fear of ghosts that died long ago and their fear of themselves.

Keep sending the signs: the job offers, that land in my in box as I deliberate an early move back to avoid check mate and insanity, the room for rent from mutual friends where friendly faces and good bone structure beckons invitingly. Please send a corresponding airfare to match the signs.

Should I buy cornflakes for one week or two... ?

A sound from the inbox, further job development... and the phone beeps with more drama. I whirl two ways, which one to read first...