I want to post a photo up, a photo I took of myself, reclining on a couch, reading a book. I'm underneath a wide window. Panes of glass, single panes of glass, with cold London outside. But it's sunny. A white room. I'm wearing a sweatshirt, horizontal at the bottom of the picture. It's all very casual. It was a relaxing afternoon reading in the sun.

And I would write underneath that photo: "I won't regret the afternoon I spent reading on my brother's couch." I would probably mention the book I was finishing, Bel Canto, and I would probably mention that the romantic slumber party tale reminded me that I love books, and so I went out and finally started reading Phillip Pullman. Because five people have recommended him to me in the last two years. I have been saying, five people have recommended him to me in the last sixth months, but maybe upon sober reflection for writing on the internet, I would have been more conservative.

Maybe I would have been. And then somewhere in there, I would have revealed that I'm sick again, and made some complacent comment, that I'm taking life easy and drinking tea and spending a lot of time reading in bed. That London is cold and my brother wishes I was more excited for nightlife. I would carp about cigarette smoke, and cite some adverse body fluids. I would click publish on all of that, sharing it with the world. Then I would go back to edit, adding a line from email to GK: "i'm probably sick so much because i travel. / no great revelations in the world, just a cycle of joy and sadness, ecstatic dancing and bedbound coughing." and maybe I would quote his reply: "Check your heart? Jesus. I hope you're okay. You must stop traveling." And that would make sense, all of it, because of the links I would add to all of the relevant books and people and citations from recent history.