In some sense that’s everything important I have to say right now.

But every morning there is a creamy white blank page here asking quietly to be filled, and there is no one to care about that, except me.

It’s like with the poor homeless cats, whether or not they’re sick besides.

I don’t take jobs any more, but fillin’, spillin’, soothin’: it’s as close as I come to having one.

The blank page in turn provides me with raison d’être: “I don’t know how else to matter.”

Ennaways I can’t quit now, less than a week from the tenth anniversary.

After that it would become thinkable.

All I would need to give up on it would be some new and improved fresh reason to be, and matter.

Sounds Simple Enough, heh.