I am

drifting.

There's really no other way to say that I only get this much before I settle back down to the ground.

I'm trying to think of one way to say two things without having to pick which holds more weight. And here at my desk, I've caught the scent of the phrase I want and I can nearly feel the heat of it, and the metaphor, she makes sense, in that nebulous thought world before the words. But after another minute my eyelids slide down and my mind wipes clean and I've already forgotten where I started. In my mind I have always called these moments birdcages—when I drop the chain that led back to the start. I could say why, but I don't think I should.

Another I am—

I am juggling. Gracelessly.

I need an expander, or a second unit, or a spare room in my head to hold these things at once.