I am still not exactly ready to talk about my health problems.
I will say this, though: what is the shape of madness? It is a single room, two rooms perhaps with a low ceiling, a warren of unused possessions both unnecessary and indispensable. Snow outside, incessant and beating. Snow and salt and wet without. Nowhere and no one else to be. A readiness to end, to escape.
I am terrified and eager for spring.