The challenge approaches. Inked into my spine; between the disks and vertebrae that keep me aligned. I'm at the ledge and before me is an obstacle course spaning far and wide; left to right, up and down, front ways, back ways, taunting me like a Wonka elevator. The ledge crumbles and I float up, each carrying me towards the steel fan on the ceiling. Up and up I go, floating, drifting, speeding towards the graveyard. A small release:"pop". I sink. Back to the comfort of the ground. Next a belch. challenge complete. Another. Another. Another... the relief of sinking shocks me into a paralyzing fear of heights.  So here I am suspended between fear and the lack of. Is this my normal? The stress spreds me thinner than dough raked over sandpaper, and the calm makes me slower than the blob of unused frozen dough in the icechest. "you're young" they say. "It's a balance" they say. So Santa, I know what I want for Chanukah, a science grade scale.