Drown

I finished reading Arthur Nersesian's Chinese Takeout. In it the narrator/main character swims the East River, which to anyone who has been to Manhattan will agree is a nasty proposition. Bad days follow Orloff, he tries in vain to get out from under them. Productive as an artist but flawed. When he tries to swim the river he nearly drowns and feels that subtle relaxation that comes just before the lights go out, no struggle. As he swims the river he's naked no actual weight on him, but the weight of his mistakes and misgivings. A few inches of new today, making for my favorite commute, the quiet glide in darkness over untracked snow. No music, I wanted to hear the bike roll through. So peaceful, the snow still falling, no noise other than Goblin cutting through the snow. I had a full messenger bag of food for the day, my own cereal and soy milk, good stuff to start the day. Great veggie fajitas, good dinner last night, mellow night at home without the bullshit distractions.