Uneasy truce with myself. I fall asleep thinking of historical figures and then jerk awake realising that they're all dead. I'm not quite sure why I think of them as alive at all; I probably think of everything as its own present tense. What of me? What of my present tense?

(Smiling) I don't even know my own body well. When will the grocery bag prove too heavy, when is the oxygen enough, when have I eaten too much and how much of a weight gain to fat. When do I stop, start, go?

And as for the mind, it is its own animal. I am not the same person 2 months on end...