A Very Short Story

It was 2:30 AM and I was suddenly awake.  Where the hell was I?  How long had I been asleep?  Where I lay was comfortable enough  but I still felt the confusion of complete disorientation.  Louise had been there.  I knew that for sure.
Or had she?
My fist was clinched and my jaw set.  My muscles at the ready.  What was going on?  I had to consciously tell myself to relax.
Focus.
Music.  Loud blaring music.
I could move; I wasn't pinned down at all and it was dark.  Had Louise done this to me?
I ventured a muffled sentence, "Louise, are you there?"
The music was still blaring.
Focus.
I was laying on my stomach, on a bed and my muscles were taut, again.  "Louise, if you're there, answer me you bitch."
Just music.
I rolled to my side and my naked skin touched something small and glass.  It fell to the floor and clinked against more glass.
Emotions began to precipitate; anger, confusion, misery.  I sat up slowly, pivoting in place and bringing my legs around to hang off of the side of the bed.  Placing my feet on the floor, my skin touched cold glass, for a second time.
I pulled my foot in away in sudden shock but soon overcame and allowed my foot to firmly rest on the floor.  Beneath my hardened sole, I felt the smooth curves of the glass.  There were bottles-- all of them empty-- littered and strewn about all around the bed.
A wave of feelings: desire, disappointment, angst; somehow connected to the empty bottles on the floor.
Mechanically, my hand reached out to the stand, next to the bed.  I found a phone and easily lit up the screen.  Force of habit.  Checking for forms of communication, blinded by the light, I turned the phone away disappointed.
"Damn you, Louise."
Everything was so hazy.  I knew Louise had been there.  Just hours before.
Just hours before.
Just hours before.
Just hours before, she had been sitting next to me, her feet planted where the empty bottle now lie.  Or was I just dreaming?
"You just bring me down," she had said. "I wonder if I could do better," she had said.
Nausea.
Attempting to stand, my face met the floor and all was black.  Again.
The music continued to blare.

geronimo.

This video is so 90's, I almost can't stand it. (split the infinitive right there; I do what I want.)

I’m not sky diving nervous, nor am I high dive or monsters-under-my-bed or put-on-this-armor-and-mount-this-horse-for-tomorrow-we-slay-the-dragon nervous.  I think I’m just roller coaster nervous. You know what I mean?  As your cart clicks toward the top, a certain sense of apprehension kind of fills your chest.  Like some sort of beast that is trying for force it’s way out. But not through your mouth or urinary tract; no no, it’s trying to come right between your lugs, through your rib cage and out.  It’s a pressure that makes your hands shake a little bit.  You take confidence in the fact that you won’t die on a roller coaster.  But the almost-terror is there. 
That’s how I feel.

You know the term “fake it until you make it”?  That’s been me for the last couple of years.  I feel like I have been chucked into this whirlwind of opportunity and I’m only quasi-prepared.  I confidently accept the offers that come my way and try my best to excel, but with every new opportunity I think, “Holy crap, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to actually do that.” 
Tomorrow, I’m running the live sound for the Syd Riggs show.  I’m really really excited.  It’s going to be such a great experience.  But I haven’t ever done this before and I seriously don’t know that I’m going to be able to pull it off.  ha ha ha.  It’s that apprehension that I was describing before: that nervousness that makes your hands quiver a little bit.  It’s pushing on my chest and makes my heart rate increase.  But it’s not something that is going to kill me.  I’ll wake up sunday morning breathing just as well as Saturday morning.

I mean, look at this beast:

Are you intimidated? So am I and I know what every knob does.

I'm being melodramatic.  You and I both know it.

I'm not actually intimidated by the board.  Everything is going to be great.  There might be a few hiccups, here and there, but it’s going to be great and I sincerely believe that.  I just want it to be everything that it can be. 
I'm going to sleep now, and tomorrow I run a pair of shows for the masses.  Cross your fingers and say your prayers.
Here I go.
Geronimo.