I can't get over this feeling that it's none of my business. That I shouldn't even look. Where does that come from? Am I right?

I caught a cold sometime between three a.m. and seven a.m. And then I nearly fell off the bed. Unlike last week's cold, which was really just a fake-out, this one is lingering and not getting any weaker. Still, it isn't so bad. Aside from the sneezes, it barely even shows.

So, I don't know why, but I just wouldn't read it. It was too tangled up in the idea of someone, and I wanted to wait until it wasn't, I guess. The timing is spectacularly odd, yet here we are. And holy cow. There are words that I keep in my head like souvenirs, because I like the sound or ideas of them, because I like the way the letters are arranged. They are words I learned by accident, that I've never had any need to know, my very own personal words, and there he is using them and making them matter. Man, I can't take it.

This reminds me of something you wrote once that struck me more because of the arrangement of the words than what they meant. It was one of the nicest strings of words I ever saw, and I can't remember them now, and I can't look for them either. Maybe some other time.

I feel good these days, good and hermity, with an apartment that smells like tangerines, with the four-track plugged in. I've decided to start taking buses. I'll need a map. On buses you can pay with change, on buses you can see the clouds. I'm excited about transfers, about pulling the wire to request a stop. What I'm doing is I'm turning this city into a whole new city. What I'm doing is I'm listening to this song over and over and over, this song that someone recorded with three toy instruments, and it is the shortest and simplest and best.

On Saturday I hope I'm going to ride a ferris wheel. Finally.

p.s. For some reason, that last sentence made me laugh. Not my last sentence, I mean yours.