Balancing the bubbles is hard work. I’m thin and narrow, not meant to work so hard. I’m a twig stuck into the earth and expected to bear the weight of an oak. It’s ludicrous. I’ve not had any time to loose my roots and push through the dry earth. I haven’t had a chance to thicken around the middle. I haven’t spread strong limbs to support the weight of the growth. You haven’t a clue about the architecture of a tree. Trees don’t just happen. They build over years and across seasons and you’d never settle the bloom of an oak on top of a twig and it makes just as little sense to blow your bubbles at the top of my neck and expect me to support the frenzy. I do not want to listen to them. I do not want any part in your frenzy. You are a constant frenzy, and it wears me down like a worn coin. I do not want to hear the gurgling. I do not want to hear from the inside out the workings of your body. I do not want to work for you. I do not want to bear your weight. You are simply too heavy and you expect too much. I cannot bear you.