She asked, “Do you write in a diary regularly?” A diary? Under lock and key? Nope. No chronological record. Just a wild herd of symbols and words racing the plains of my thoughts. But we can try to wrangle them into something comprehensible, watch them run until patterns emerge.

“Journal more,” she said. Where’s the balance between burnout and avoidance? Can you dissociate yourself straight off of this round earth? Can your chest rip wide open from the stress of loving too big, wanting too much, hoping too hard?