I haven't sat down to write in one hundred hundred days. I don't know how long, not that it matters, not really.
I will now, though, sit here, and write. I believe that the moon must be in a house of communication as I am full of words and organizing and filling in small numbers in my checkbook ledger. My room is no better for it, still a rampant mess.
The blood bank called and needs blood, 14,000 units down nationally, and it's my duty as a citizen to be a hero and save a life. So I will take my bones and blood to the bank and they will jab my arm with a hollow needle while I sit pumping life into a small bag. Then I'll have a hot chocolate and a box of raisins. Raisins are high in iron, for those of you who are anemic.
