i used to say i've done next to nothing or i've been next to nothing all day. it's been many countless days since then. a long time ago i read a book called something happened where the narrator recounts all kinds of generally awful things happening which never happen except on the page and in his mind. i wanted to cultivate the minimum and get next to nothing but i was afraid of nothing, literally. did i want to get next to my fear, of being nothing, of dying? i feel my relation to nothing changing. i was not-waiting for the book nothing happened and i'm grateful a missive came into my inbox today. nothing happened and i'm still here. i woke last night so there was an island of wake in my sleep but i didn't feel so anxious and under-slept today, maybe because it's sunny and bitter cold and all i had to do was talk therapy remotely. i started a draft letter to susan a. crane about nothing happened and it feels a little silly to write to a writer who i don't know and assume some connection to via her words, but i'd be gratified to know if my words ever spark another person's words. simply that, and more, but simple acknowledgement, and she might read it, and not respond or delete it unread, but that's ok, her book was sent to me to glean through a third party so to speak, and there's already a circle of words. i've thought about so many things i couldn't say. i may risk sending it anyway. it's a small risk, really nothing at all.