I've been sick. It stole my appetite and made my head mad. Led me to a sleepy precipice from where I woke damn near paralyzed and called Angela to see if she might be able to bring me food, which she carried in a sweet little basket with an arrangement of pansies and a card she drew. Then staked to the bed for a day and a half, cursing the freezing office—surely the culprit—and relishing the somnolent confinement.

When I came to, summer had arrived. Sunshine blew in through the windows and adhered to the walls, making my apartment glow from within and causing my orchids to grow. One is preparing to bloom and I've been watching an arm of buds sprout horizontally from the plant. The buds hang, shiny and tumescent; I can hardly wait to see what color will explode from there.

Outside one thing is clear: I need sunglasses. And I drive around the town with the music turned above the warmth and basking in the even flow of songs from the CD changer. I've forgotten what driving music is like and have made some wrong choices. I'm slowly remembering what works.

Currently in the changer:

Moby Play
James Millionaires
Lost Highway Soundtrack
Aphex Twin On
Talking Heads Sand in the Vaseline Disc 2
Prodigy Fat of the Land

Otherwise, still biking to and from work in limpid mornings and evenings. No matter which direction I'm headed, it feels like a clean break. Whether cool inhalation of marine air or escaping the staleness of indoors, I don't know, but those twenty minutes on each side of my day are the most alive. Less than an hour actually out in the world and disentangled from lifestyle.

I need to leave America. Just for a little while, to fill my lungs with fresh air.