Slow fever and the longing for a better way. But where to turn first? The speculative answer is a valley of paradise, but ultimately even that would solve nothing, or not enough.

So instead the idea would be to cut it at 22 and find another way. 44 as a magical number, a weekly number.

I’m crawling along the very edge of being. Things I’m supposed to do and hardly any of it appealing. So the taste of wine and abandonment. I’ve been true but I’ve made false steps. My mind is amazing but it doesn’t lead me to do wise things.

Who would I be if I couldn’t write?

May is over and the summer begins.

Nothing is perfect. Until you let it be so.