Michigan is -- not quite -- an island.

Last night I felt lousy. Couldn't sleep, totally a mess. Daybreak comes and I'm like some sorta zombie. My face ached. I didn't sleep so much as occasionally turn around and let the sunbeams knock me out. But I had stuff to do, and I did it. I felt all collapsey when I was doin' it, so I just turned my mood into Raymond Chandler-speak. Nothing forms your mind better than trying to rewrite the day as you would a script.

and on into the evening it went. But it got better, more than I thought it would. Some conversation and a few movies later here I am seeking not a person free island, but still attached to land, with water, water everywhere. And thoughts and feelings came in discrete bundles whipping around my head like bullets. Some I had to duck, some I took damage from, others I caught bare-handed. Does the net form that bridge to others like Mighty Mac? Maybe the night lets me be myself. You -- you the reader -- you're the best. I'm glad you came by. What can I get you? Some coffee and cookies? That sounds good doesn't it? I wish I had comfy chairs for us to enjoy; the ones I have suck. I want to enjoy it all, with you, for as long as we can stand each other.