Such belief in the body. Belief in blood, which only rarely reveals itself. Belief in intestinal chutes and ladders. Belief in an alignment of organs and glands like stars. More and more, I rely on fever dreams for divination, or as some kind of salve for the sear of regret.

Last weekend, I was down for the count for a solid three days, couch bound with some mutant strain of the flu. Sneezing, shaking, and vomiting aside, it was kind of nice to be unable even to check the mail. It’s been months since I’ve had even two days all the way off, so three days have felt like a luxury Also, it forced some quality time with my old friend tivo.

This weekend was a whole lot different. 200 phone calls for a stellar candidate; two missed parties; four hours at a salon. Listening to the new Robyn album on repeat, and playing with my newly bleached and razor cut hair. It’s been a good couple of days, that’s all.

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