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i journal as an act of desperation, an attempt to reclaim the things i feel i’ve lost. every day i forget so much, memories fall through the cracks in my mind like sand through a sieve. so here is today: i woke up early on martin luther king day to scrape the ice off of my car, and i cut my middle finger on the frozen door. i tried to do some reading. slowly, as if trudging down the subway plstform in the summer, i made my way through the opening chapters of anna karenina. so far, everyone seems worried about something. i made a quick breakfast out of a clif bar, eggs, salami, and bread. i drank some cold brew. i sat down for the afternoons book and thought wistfully about becoming more intellectual. then all i did was play the same five songs on the piano (will i ever stop practicing bach’s inventions?), spinning my wheels in place while pretending i’ll move.

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