there are going to be days and weeks and months when I can go about my life with any semblance of interest and ones when I can’t, and ones when I can eat anything remotely approaching the recommended daily value of food and ones when I can’t, and ones when my heart is pounding and my blood is quicksilver and my muscles are shaking and every impulse pours through me and out of me in tumbling ecstasy and roils beneath my feet like waves bearing me up, and ones where the waves swallow me whole and riot above my head and invade my lungs and press, press, press
there are going to be days and weeks and months when I can feel and I can think and I can see the purpose of living, of just being alive, of writing and doing and thinking and creating, and there are going to be ones when it’s everything I can do not to end everything in the impulse of the moment, when I can’t help but think are moments like that worth moments like this
there are going to be days and weeks and months, circling after and after each other in unbearable rapidity, in intolerable slowness, in unpredictable leaps and bounds and whirls, and that’s what my life is going to be like, that’s all, it will never ever ever ever get any better, not ever
there are going to be days and weeks and months and days and weeks and days and weeks and months until suddenly there aren’t any more