somewhere in the middle of June. I could write no more. The following posts are some notes I posted here and there. They remain unpolished but represent a stage of fervor. The absence of data is still data. As I was taught in my previous career as a social scientist.
Here is a note from July:
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Hi baby. My baby. My sweet baby love. My sweet love. Oh my love. I had a good day. A good work day. The kind of day that makes the world feel full of possibility. And you. Are not here to share it. Which ruins it. Anything that makes me feel leaves a rock in my throat. I had a good day. I got excited. I thought I could make a difference. Wanted to tell you. I hurt all over. All the time. Like. Burn victim the air hurts my skin when it moves. I need things to stay still.
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I do remember that day though I don't remember the details. Something felt full of possibility and then immediately it felt empty and alone.
This is a placeholder. I can barely remember the frenetic pace I kept throughout these days. Trying to be brave,
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