My life the last week has consisted of the above: not writing (but wanting to write) postcards, books of poetry I loved but forgot, books of short stories I loved but never finished (until now), cereal late at night, Malbec at the same time as the cereal, my journal during daytime, my journal during the night, a little bit of anonymity in the early a.m. and in public, a little bit of exposure in the safety of my own home, lots of desk-time and cappuccino.
Well, that and being under-the-weather. I looked the definition of Rough & Tumble this morning.
That's what a fever will do. Kinda sad I didn't photograph myself in such a state. Not even crying compares.
Love for the physical extremes without going to physical extremes? Yes.
Something akin to this but with less light (in the body):
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