The Fugue

Oh kids, we are in a funk, a dirge, a deep blue fugue. This is the part of life when emails sit unreturned, when we need them most, phone calls hang in the balance, unanswered little spectral molecules hovering cruelly in the atmosphere. I feel entombed in a cottony hazy fluff--that gray silky cotton ballerinas stuff into their toe shoes. Which is apt since it's what they use to buffer the pain of their unnatural stances.

I shan't bore with all the mundane details. The rainy day is mirroring things well enough.

Let's think about summer vacation, that faraway land before everything shifted and turned weird.