December 25
There is a brilliant sun and a great deal of warmth. I can’t force my eyes open yet I see in the distance a fiery little fairy dancing across a bank of clouds. This is the other side. I’ve done it.
An awful burning sensation and a cramp in my right ass cheek tells me otherwise. The sun is bright, but the cold remains and I’m lying face down in a ravine, alone, in Central Park. I am obviously not dead. No maniacs, no killers, no f*****g to death. I am disappointed, angry, relieved.
My fingers are frost bitten and burn like f**k. I did not wear gloves, which makes sense since I thought this was a suicide mission. My finger tips are blue and numb and my whole body aches and is burning in a rotting freezer burnt meat sort of way. I stand, then lick my fingers which does not he
