A top wobbles when it runs out of spin. Supposedly, in a frictionless vacuum, a top will spin forever. Life is neither frictionless, nor a vacuum (though it does suck sometimes.)

Tops spin down. As they do, they wobble. Given enough mass or a delicate enough field, that wobble could foretell more than simply the top's energy running out. It could also herald some significant damage when the top finally stops.

Tops are used as compasses. Those tops cannot simply be allowed to spin down, to wobble, to crash. But sometimes, they do anyway. In spite of best efforts, in spite of attention, in spite of plans and process, they may still experience fault.

Then there's me. I'd love to say that I paid attention to myself, or that I planned for my own upkeep. I would love to say that I took every step possible to prevent failure.

That would be a lie.

Instead, I'm at the punch-drunk top stage, where the top lacks enough inertia to stay upright, but possesses too much to simply lay down. Instead, it scrapes and bounces against its neighbors, those close to it.

I'm tired. I've held myself together for longer than most friends thought was possible for anyone given my circumstances. My first folly was to think that I would be more stable under load, my second was to seek more load.

My third and most damning was to not seek help unburdening myself when the load got too much and the top started to wobble.

It's caroming wildly now. I've all-but-destroyed two critical friendships, and two others have taken me to task for other decisions I've made, both in times past and times recent.

I don't even know why I'm posting this. It's bound to start a shitstorm, but may as well get it over with.