"Where are your feet, Kristen."

"Well, they're right here, on the ground, right?"

"No. What time are your feet in."

"Now?"

"Exactly."

I paused to look at her, slightly offended at her short tone. I think that my constant complaints about things I need to do and things I wish I hadn't or had done are beginning to take its toll on her. She loves me, she's my best friend, but she's also a human being. She has limits as to how much she can take.

I listen in depth to the lyrics she writes, to the things she says, but it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, I'm still the little kid in the corner of her preschool, confused and shy.

Move on, move on, I don't listen. Move on to the next big thing. Move on to what I "need" next. I'll move on, alright. I'll move on.

"I'm a rolling stone, Nancy. I'm not meant to sit in an office and do the same thing every day. Why do I have to live according to other people's desires? Why do I have to live for other people's approval? I'm not a politician, I'm not anything close to being perfect. No one is perfect, Nancy, and yet I try so hard to achieve it. Because in everyone's opinion, perfection is equal to greatness."

She looked at me with an astonished face, thinking so hard I could hear the gears in her brain squeaking, creaking, turning.

"Kristen, your feet aren't in here, in today. They're here, in my office right now. That's what I was trying to get at. Take one step at a time. Planning is good when you're dealing with parties or weddings or recitals. Planning isn't good when you're recovering."

I hesitate...