Huff huff huff. It seems the days fill themselves with merriment, with nonsense, with the unimportant details. I have considered relinquishing some of those unimportant details, but to whom? Who would take them on? Would could stand the job? I’m beat today, that’s for sure. I don’t want the job.

Dara told me she had bigger fish to fry, and I fretted about this for weeks. But on some level, she was telling the truth: she had caught a one-hundred ninety pound shark on one of the beaches in Grand Cayman, and had committed to serving its tastier parts. I was constantly doing that with women. Karen had told me she “needed some space,” and I took it all wrong. Eight years later, she was sending messages from a manned station orbiting the moon.