March 2, 1999: Coping with existence
I stop writing to view the rising sun—to help anchor a sickness brought to life by motion. Being dizzy and sick like this scares me. Oh gee Mr. Radio man, have you ever taken your concern to a doctor? Rubbing my fingers through my hair, released is a giant yawn followed by a moaning. “How boring…” I think to myself while turning to talk to Ernie bird. “I’m sick! Morning sickness! I’m pregnant!” I stop again—my stomach knocks me back. “For whatever sake,” I hear myself scream into this page. “Write through this! You are much stronger than this! Write!”