This is my second sweater. It's for my friend, Justina the artist, and she is trading me a painting for it.
It's one of the many things I have wanted to complete, so I can move on, so I can create new things, but I have been forced to linger on it. And on Godel, Escher, Bach. And on an empty bank account. And on old poems and stories. And on bookshelves. And on 149 pounds. And on this notebook that seems to contain nothing but To-Do lists. And on an insidious awkwardness and distance between me and Tim. And on a job that sends me home crying at least once a week.
I just want to go forward. (And I am, but so slowly. More slowly than ever. Always forward, never back. But never enough. Is there a reward for this slogging? What do you think?)