There are times I fear

that this is consuming me from within, hollowing me out from the inside and replacing the vital stuff with some large gaping void that leaves me missing something.

The weekend afternoon is no longer the lazy hiatus it once was, nor the long break promised without the ruinous taint of an impending life after it. Every step is a first down some forked path, like the specialty Goosebump books of my seemingly long ago childhood, except the pages disappear as I flip forward to meet my destiny with the evil clown. "Choose-your-own-ending" has never seemed quite so stressful.

My soul lies still in the right auricle.