I am doomed to fall asleep at the wheel.

Last week a parked car crept into my blind spot. I'm an asshole. It hooked in the hollow intended for the wheel and I dragged it. Most car wrecks, you can't forget. This one did not see me reeling for a moment. I went out for chai and a bagel, unshaken, unstirred.

I was born with poor vision and a steel trap heart. Often, I don't wear my glasses. I like the way the world looks through slit eyes, a squint and a glare. I cannot stop. The other night I walked into the coffee shop alone. Maybe I was depressed or genuinely tired. The sun was setting and I cast the last of the day's shadows in a patch of light on the wall. The words on the page squiggled off like worms. I damn near fell asleep.

One customer, one coffee shop employee. He took in the outside furniture and eventually, my cup of tea finished and the sun all set, I left. I caught him from the corner of my eye, grinning not at me but at the sight of me. Maybe it's right what I've been told. I catch a lot of smiles and a lot of smiling eyes. And I don't say a word.

One man has made my lip quiver in my whole life. I don't know what to do about that.

On the worst days, all movements are arbitrary and dangerous. The best days are better. One is getting hit by a Mack truck, and the other is anonymous letters from a man in Minneapolis.

For the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream.

I wanted to do cartwheels when it was warm. And it still is, but I can't do cartwheels and I wish it were raining.

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