And the alarm bells go a-clang-clang-clanging.

I have a problem. And yes, I am a little scared.

Bottom's been stirred and the water's turned murkier as a result. Inasmuch as I've that innate compulsion to get it resolved (read: Do something about it)... I can't. Just have to sit by the bank and wait for the silt to settle.

Yet there is no peace in the process. For crying out loud, since when was there peace in the presence of fear?!

I'm afraid. Of uncertainty. Of unnecessarily breaking the water's surface. Of tramping around and disturbing its peace, and confusing the water even more in my impatience. Of being an utter nuisance. I don't even know if I should have walked away a long time ago, or if it is still within Your will for me to be here.

It is here where a voice interjects with a sharp "Do the right thing!" a la Russell Peters' Chinese migrant accent. Oh, it's a battle of wills indeed. And what is the right thing?

When will I stop fretting like one who knows no better. When will I surrender.