Just read a book called Missing! It’s about a president-elect who goes Missing (!). He took too much LSD (1960s). Sounds like a good idea.

I cannot motivate myself to move all the way into the studio apartment I had either the diamond foresight or terrible judgment to pick in a bar-strewn wasteland that’s now just a wasteland. Since it’s easier to stare at the walls when they’re decorated, I should get on that. I also stare at bamboo cutting boards from Bed, Bath & Beyond, and visualize cut-up meat. Asking myself: what do I like?

It’s funny watching a few of my friends not deal very well with the deep need to hang out, yet I miss them. I want us to build covered wagons and race each other in them, a mandated distance apart, wearing y-3 windbreakers, toasting each other like royalty in our drawstring-adjustable hoods and hems.

Bad news, though. We’ll all get thru this together—no! It’s not an orgy. Getting thru this in an advanced state of alone is the truth we have to unbox, the truth a million zooms can only tweak.

Image: Caitlin Tobias via Flickr (cc).