I’m sick. And I worked two extra shifts last week and it’s ninety degrees out (eighty inside the house b/c there are NO SCREENS), and I interviewed two artists today and I leave in a week and haven’t done anything to prepare. And the world is fat and round and everything has exploded into green.
I think I will drive to LittleCommunity where my parents live. And there I will jump, jump, jump into the South Toe River and I will wash away all the yuck and emerge exhausted, but cool. Then I will lie on my back at their house and stare at the ceiling fan as a cheap and harmless form of getting high. And then I will sleep into the night.
And tomorrow will be new.