February 7, Midhour -- the day I crashed my spanking new motorcycle scooter...
Surprisingly, I've reached a kind of equilibrium.
At the edge of my bed, my left shin is swollen like the skin of a bruised grapefruit, underneath the ice pack interchanged every 1.5 hours, once again evidence to my being sick. And that, insignificant evidence has proved another seemingly irrelated point. Heartsick. My body of restless energy has been brought down from its physical high, to the utter reality of another reality. I don't even know how it started. What day it began. This heartsick. It's so beguiling. And I always self-diagnose late. I feel baka; bakayaro. That means fool. As if my life was just being swept along with the tide, never knowing where I was going to or from. I'm not the wind that moves the waves, but the shell in the waves. The ebbing tide... I forgot how I was ever found, and how I am lost again. Time is lost to me. The tide is ebbing, I must catch it before it returns.
