very little work to do, so I read a lot—about oranges and lakes and pomegranates rotting in Mallorca. there’s so much I need to do and it aches in me. less of an ache, I guess, than a pinch. two months of my stomach pinching to the point of my hands trying to tear my hair from my scalp. something has to give. I have to open it up somehow, let this swarm of panic out