I can't feel my fingertips

I've just resigned my keys to the house on Clinton.

It's a strange sensation, knowing I'll never go back there.
Then again, who really knows?

Perhaps some metaphysical element of that space as my home will one day ask me back, like when people drive by their childhood homes just to get their fix of nostalgia.

I rode my bike today for the first time in months. I can't feel my fingertips. My stomach feels like it's wrinkled and shrinking. My throat is lines with rigid tissue paper.

And now to work.

Posted with LifeCast