I may or may not be writing from the future technically, as I'm not exactly sure what day it is. All these days may be the same though up here in the temperate North, and I mean that in the most inexplicable way. It's wonderful, to put it lazily, and lazily is most definitely the way these days. I feel relaxed, at peace, and my girl's the happiest she's been in years, she says. And here, in this sphere of reality, I want to do nothing but write. It's strange. And yet, it's not unfamiliar, this feeling. I know it well, I've felt it before. It's life without design. Organic living.
