as i've gotten older, i've begun to realize that life is a series of days, nothing more. we get up. if we're lucky, we have breakfast. we go to work. we walk the dogs, if we have them. we take the kids to school, if we have them. we sit and stare at the walls, if we have them. and once or twice a year, again if we're lucky, we go somewhere else in an effort to keep the everyday at bay. but it lurks there, just behind the mountains, reminding us of its existence at night when we sleep.

and then, in the blink of a northcountry sunset, it's over. we go home, we unpack, we empty litter boxes, we pay bills, we go back to work.

last night at 2 a.m., i sat up in bed, thinking of all the things i couldn't control: invasions into my world, violations real and imagined, thefts of energy, meanness, cancer. just one goddam day after coming home, i felt frightened and unmoored, floating in the night of the everyday without a flashlight.

but then i slept.

and then i woke.

and then i sat down at this cursed computer, and found this photograph.

and now i will have breakfast.

and then i will get on with it.