Illegible faxes have been pouring in. JOSH WHERE ARE YOU STOP WHAT ARE YOU DOING STOP PLEASE EXPLAIN STOP.

Lying awake. Dreams about celebrities and ex-houses. Ablutions with Dr. Bronner’s. Pushing Queer Eye out of my head as I shave and confront hair issues. My compulsive need to predict what will happen that day and mentally prepare for it. My compulsive need to map out as much of the future as possible. Q.E.D. the abject horror at last-minute changes, impulsive decisions, spontaneous outbursts, etc.

Checking Google News to see who died, or is near-death. Dread. A kind of weary hug. My seven-minute commute — I mean, just seven minutes — is, daily, The World On The Brink Of Anarchy. October is my favorite month!!! I keep forgetting to take pictures of our new town to provide my mother with some visual context. Sometimes I have to wait for boats to pass under the raised bridge.

A long walk to the rear of the building. My desk and computer carefully crafted to look in medias res. An ever-growing collection of Snapple Yard Sale caps, to be given to the guy who’s collecting them in a vase. Email, websites, meeting requests, Post-Its, Word documents, Excel spreadsheets. Times. Meetings in war rooms. Notes and doodles. I jab the staple-remover into my fingers while thinking.