on seeing fireworks at midnight

January 4th. Oh what is to be done.

It's incredible, scary really, how the more you write, the more you can't be torn away from it, and how the less you write, the more there is nothing in all this wide earth that can get you to pick up the pen again.

I've been in hibernation.
Possibly extinction.
But just as possibly resurrection.

I'll tell you one thing: today I spent six hours knitting. Nothing about knitting feels like resurrection. I feel I have lost a part of my soul today, all tied up in those gray little bumps and lumps.

Yesterday I was at my Grandma's, and she walked me through her whole house and told me stories of pieces of furniture, of a chair that used to sit at her kitchen table when she was a little girl. It's now in the basement bedroom, to the left of the stairs.

I went to the train station to see someone who never should have left in the first place. He had a beard and it made me think about time.

And sometimes I feel more tied down and sometimes I feel cut loose, and both of them terrify me.

Two more months
Six more weeks
Some days
An hour

And it passes and it passes and it passes.