The Mean Reds

Today was a day, all right. As the illustrious Catchka, put it, "it's called 'a day'." This day was the day of Pale Flower Syndrome (so named by yours truly). I recalled the events of last night with a new clarity. I seemed wan to myself from the distance of hours--something in me reaching, that way that I can reach when I feel myself drowning. I wonder, seriously, if I'm not more socially awkward than I thought.

Wallace Stevens would call it "that old catastrophe." Some days it seems like I haven't made it very far at all. I'll tell you one thing, though. I refuse with everything I am to let my peace of mind be usurped. I am never going back to that familiar misery. God, no. God. no.