“Standing here, I am somewhat tired, but mostly delirious…or tired…or delirious, but probably tired.  I can feel the cold tiles beneath my feet.  Feel the dust and grime lodged within the cracks that has formed over years of neglect.  There is moving air here.  It is somewhat cold, but mostly refreshing.  I must have left the window open again.  A window in a bathroom.  It is mostly light outside.  A dull, gray light.  An ambivalent light.  I am everything but ambivalent, here, now, standing, looking into my eyes.  My hands are firmly planted upon the counter, and I must have been gripping them tightly because my knuckles are sore. I can’t feel my fingertips and the sink is splattered with blood.”