i believe i was born with a tragic sense of life, or learned it quite young being born into the human tragedy. it didn't just begin with the nightmares about the oblong box, or too much night ice cream, or that other movie about dismemberment. my brain was already tweaked for those things, and the divorce was a later chasm, though i dreamt of that too. 

this morning albeit gray and rainy and well suited to depressive rumination i'm able and happy to say i no longer want to die every day as i did in ukrainian village.  oh, yet i'm old. i knew i'd be late if ever i bloomed. still, a reason to be cheerful, if it's late that surely means it's not too late.

 somnia. the body of sleep.