I'm sitting here at the little Imac at the mom's house. I am wiping my snots on my right t-shirt sleeve about once every 2 minutes, it's getting pretty wet. I found a pair of Charlotte Hornets sweatpants in a laundry basket complete with holey crotch. I have some version of the non-puking flu.

You know how if you put your thumb over a flashlight, the light shines right through to your fingernail? Yeah, that's what I was just thinking of. I want to go camping. There is something so magical to me in camping. Probably fire and sleeping on the ground. I can't think deeply lately, like in the sense I analyze and ruminate and whatnot. Occasionally i may slip into the panicked "what is the meaning of (my) life" thoughts, but they are less and less urgent now. Let's go camping on the beach. Let's just be.