Wednesday, May 7, 1997
Dear Nova,
Last night I set my alarm for 8 AM in a vote of confidence that today I might return to some semblance of a schedule, but when the buzzer went off, I lay in bed for hours and couldn’t summon myself from the covers until sometime after 11:30. I felt like a beached whale. I stirred with the best intentions of moving, but a greater weight kept me flattened against my mattress. I pardoned my lethargy, feeding myself the fiction that I just needed more rest, but I knew the only reason I was still glued to my sheets was that I much preferred the darkness behind my eyelids to whatever daylight might have to offer.
It’s already the second week of May. I say “already,” but the truth is, the last few months have felt like a year. The sun is starting to set later,
