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Accounting for Everything: The Holter
The Holter
I had to wear a portable heart monitor for the last 24 hours. It's this tiny little recording device that looks like a Dictaphone and has these 7 electrodes that stick to 7 separate points on my chest and stomach. They call it the "holter". I had to wear it to work and everything. With all the suction cups I looked a bit like a robot. My boyfriend called me "Frankenstien".
A tumbleweed skips across the dusty office floor. Our heroine enters the scene. She stands with her legs apart in front of a small steel safe. Her hand raises to her side slowly to reveal her weapon.
"You gonna co-operate?"
The safe does not answer.
"I don't want no trouble, y' hear?"
It seems to bristle.
"You gonna balance...?"
Silence.
"well, are ya.....punk?"
I never noticed my heart beat until it started to skip beats. Now I find myself counting them. Pressing my fingers into my wrist.
"Are you still there?"
And is the emotional heart connected at all to the physical heart?
I think my heart isn't working because I am not taking care of it. And I don't mean that I am not exercising or eating right. I mean more like a computer that you need to maintain. You have to clear the cache, and back-up your hard drive. Delete unneeded files that are taking up space and make sure everything is in it's place. My heart is overloaded and over run. It's stacked high with emotion and feelings that I have been not necessarily hoarding but just simply not putting in their place. Feelings that need to be voiced and placed in other people's hearts. I'm bottled up and pressurized. I am ready to blow. And now my heart is physically sending me a message. Tell people you love them. Write songs. Play your guitar. Take pictures of everyone you love. Sing. Sing. Sing. I'm so sorry that I had to learn this way. I am so sorry for everyone who had been waiting outside my door, cold and shivering, for me to let them in.
Come in.
Wipe your feet first....don't touch anything.....
But please.... come in.
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