I find it impossible to write this morning. I went too far last night in search of peace, in the pursuit of bliss. I confronted things. . . I don't know. How much does one confess? What is true and what is fiction?
I'll need to come back to myself. The day is cloudy, cool and damp. . . predictable gloom. I'll soak in the tub, drink tea. . . all the things I thought I would do before.
The photo is apropos. Phone camera. What a world.