spent all day blowing my nose, reading, and drinking a mixture of orange juice and black tea in the comfort inn's room 227. it was as unexpected as any of the life i've been living recently; mostly pleasant, definitely different.
though tiring, life of maybe has been good to me. since i've always been a planner, illness and accidents have often been the only thing connecting me to the forces of random at work in the world. it's been nice to let the better parts of random in again, to observe the forces of synchronicity at work for good instead of insurance premium.
i need to get in touch with kate. maybe i will go to new york. or maybe i will stay here, and make paintings and have an apartment. inevitable snot aside, i am confident for the first time in quite a while that anything i choose to do will turn out well. not perfectly, but well. maybe. hah.
(really good books always make me smug and satisfied. go get a copy of
oryx and crake this second. also,
this poem is sweet and makes me feel nostalgic for lunch boxes.)