Why do they call it “pins and needles”? “Tenterhooks” is an equally tame description, as it refers not (as I suspected) to the equipment that holds up massive slabs of beef, but rather to the small clasps that suspend fabric as it dries.

No, I am suspended by a crane from the top of a skyscraper. I am Luke Skywalker, digging my fingernails into a catwalk within inches of Darth Vader’s billowing black cape. My heart stops and my lungs constrict like empty sandwich baggies every hour.

What am I getting into?

Today, though I can barely afford to pay my rent, I had a woman come and clean the apartment. The qi is flowing again, unimpeded by the stacks of unopened mail (which I have hidden under the radiator), the sedimentary layers of pungent laundry, and the insidious coating of grime that advanced during my many absences.

I can breathe (I should breathe). Everything will be okay.