Made human soup out of myself tonight. It’s forty-five degrees fahrenheit in my bathroom. By the time I was done ridding my body of microorganisms and bad thoughts, the temperature may have raised itself an degree or three, I don’t know. I’m in my bathroom now, actually. I can’t find anywhere else in the house I feel comfortable writing in.

I’m sitting in the bathtub. It is empty. I am fully clothed.

Okay, I wasn’t actually sitting in the bathtub. I’m sorry. I am now. This is real, as of just now.

It’s very cold. There is nothing more to report.

I just thought of something else: my bathtub, for maybe the first time in my life, is not shaped like a coffin. It’s far too deep, not boxy enough. I don’t know what all of this means.

It’s cold in here — this room, not just the bathtub — because there is two-and-a-half-feet of snow on the ground. (And I am so cheap that I will not turn the heat on!) I know this because I measured it with my pelvis. It’s probably deeper than that by now. Hell. It was still snowing an hour ago. I saw some men outside digging out cars and uttering profanity like they were shaking loose change around in their pockets. Maybe they did that too.

God, what am I doing.

That’s not even a question!

Though that was an exclamation. The answer is, too: I don’t know!

I’m in that gum-sticky slurp-bubbling mood that I get in before something astronomical is about to happen.

No, it is not “Christmas”!

God, what is that, really?

(I’m actually asking God, here.)

I don’t know. The snow has dulled my feelers. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be sensing. It feels like being slowly crushed by an asteroid while wearing an unflattering bathing suit in the Middle Ages, honestly. This is such a curious day.

It is the longest day I’ve had in maybe six years.

I dream of these long days.

It was a long day because it is the first day in many months that the world has asked nothing of me, was content to let me breathe and eat and sleep in my bedroom. No one needed the warmth of my body, today.

Though the thing is, I’m very tired. I never get tired around 1:30 in the ay-em. Something is wrong with me!

Last night, I felt the same thing. Though I was sputter-spitting and alive and turning about! I’d never felt such electricity in my bones and head-glob. It was ticking like a psychopath with a machine gun, let me say now. When I was in the presence of people who pay obscene amounts of money to eat over-size creepy-as-fuck shrimp nested on top of sticky-warm made-from-a-box grits festooned with sausages made from pheasants (this indicates I was At Work!), my mouth uttered things that had been ordered from my brain in fractions of fractions of milliseconds. It was incredible. There are all sorts of hokey myths about what the God damned full moon does to people, why not snow-babies when they anticipate snow? I can smell snow circling us from space hours before it even happens. Is this my birth-ability? Mom? Is it?

What I am saying is: I don’t know where any of these words are coming from. Sometimes, lately, I have felt like all I ever say here is maybe five percent of the metric-ton cargo dump that fires out of my fingertips in the middle of the night when I feel entranced and frankly psychotic enough to say something. What you see here is such a small amount of the overall bloated, sweating hunk of fuming meat that festers in my mind over the course of many days and weeks. I almost never sit down and think about what I’m going to say. What am I saying now, I don’t know!

And the only reason I can’t endow you with the other ninety-five percent of the sad garbage that sizzles in my mind like pancake batter is because my fingers cannot type out the words and sentences and complete thoughts that slobber out of my brain fast enough! If I were to attempt to really communicate to you (as opposed to making large, public reminders of my Place in any given Time in my Life), it would be incomprehensible and I might get arrested! Thank God I can’t do that!

Or have the patience to attempt to!

What I am trying to say, really: My brain and fingers and voice and knowledge of language and syntax were working faster than fast last night, on account of the impending dump truck of snowfall that would later make my ride home a slippery-explosive thing! Was it the snow? Was it? Maybe! I think so!

Lord, when January 26th pokes its hungry head into my cloudless skies next month, I might end up jumping off a building, what with the speed of thought!

Going to Japan in nine days!

I think it’s nine days. I can’t be bothered to check.

Because that means more time spent sitting in a frozen bathtub!

I promise not to be publicly sad!

You jerks, I swear.

Man.

Christmas in five days, huh?

Man!

Hm, there’s this cousin of mine I need to see on that day. I think I will slumber in the Village of Berries for several sunrises when that day comes.

And then I will go where the sun fucking lives.

What a December!