I feel it slipping away, becoming aware too late. Past the point of correctability. The numbers fall. Double digits when triple are required. The brain slows. The lightness invades the shoulders. The neck bobs. The sweat comes. Oh God, I’m sweating. I know what’s happening. I know how to fix it, but some morbid need stops me. First I have to see just how close I am to falling over the edge. How many points above coma am I? Has the bungee cord snapped? Can I climb back out of the hole my body has dug? The failure of blood.