I came home to a cat, her white paws delicately dancing past the typewriter, mine. Tucked inside the typewriter was a sheet, long dead, with the words I wrote by hand: “Place yourself in circumstances of want, and ask yourself, “is this what I fear?”
Catch the trade winds in your sails.
“A new background created without hope or joy, without feeling of permanence or without a conviction of its rightness. But inevitably beautiful.” June 1936, Anais Nin
Start drinking. Daydream about your death.