The bats are out

This isn’t going to be any less awkward the more or less I hem and haw about it. Yes, yes, beginnings are always rough and there’s nothing at all that can be done about that.

Instead I would like to tell you that I am beside Savannah River, bathed in the shadow of my eight-story hotel, and that I have not thought about gouging my eyes out once today. Instead, I am filled with that honey-milk malaise that says Yes, perhaps I will stay in the hotel all day. Perhaps I will buy a miniature can of pringles, bottled Pepsi, and ice cream and when the hotel staff says that will be $17 I will say okay, because the restaurant will be closed then anyways and there is nowhere to go but my room on the second floor. For now, though, I am beside the river, bathed in the shadow.

This kind of thing has become usual for me – usual enough that my professors are probably raring to rip my eyes out (before I can do it myself) for missing so many classes. It’s a passion, I’m sure, and a fury that brings me to Savannah, just as it is a passion or a fury or the will of an angry god that brings me to Utah or to Wisconsin or to the top floor of the education building back home. It’s the force that wakes me in the morning with a stone in my belly, weighing heavy and rough, asking what I’m going to be.

I never have an answer for it. However, I still have my eyes, and that is victory enough.

To do all of this, I must be bats.

Welcome to my cave.

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