I fly back in the dark of not-even-morning to another universe. One in which I am the goal and the drive solely, where work equals happiness and I sleep alone. The one I leave behind I don't dwell on here; the one wherein the smell of his sweat is a fog drug that inhibits me of all but three motives: ensure his survival. ensure my survival. ensure that all things that remove him from my immediacy are obliterated. You can see why dwelling on that from this distance would be maddening.
There's was woods and rain, altogether that makes three luxuries that exist in my blood but are not often had, the combination of which felt like homecoming on a grand scale. We did get mildly lost in the woods, after sunset when all the light was leaking away rapidly. We got out before the Blair Witch references got too bad in my head. I am not allergic to Washington.
Not much time now before Nekyia rehearsal in Berkeley- the extended version. Somehow the will to think and act and move with great intention will surface (I know it will) and endure for the length of the day. Afterwards, I predict massive roadkill stage back home in my chair, which means Friends (probably) and sleep (eventually) and more internet (definitely). Mornin.