I wish there were a way to make it all go away. To sit down in a corner and say, no, I've lost my sanity and I'm just going to sit here for a month until it comes wandering back of its own accord, and apologizes for screwing with me for so long. Then the dust under the couches and the pine needles in the bathtub and the clothes festering under the beds would be remedied by some sort of kindly matron person, and I could knit little sweaters for squirrels and the state would pay for it. I'm sure the squirrels would have all the answers, too, and if I listened to them they'd tell me that work is for suckers and life is for hanging upside down in trees and yelling at people.