6:30 a.m.

Even though the morning aches my joints, and makes the nerves at my knuckles and hips feel as if they were pressed between a cannonball and a centrifuge, I still rise into it.

I was a night creature, once. I'd like to say "many years ago" but you'd call me a liar and quote those things that have since become part of that blurred backdrop, my indefinite past.

Some days it is difficult to get out of bed.

In this city, we are all waking up mourning. We force ourselves to cross the threshold as the fog settles into our skin.

"And maybe blogging makes us all feel a little less alone or a little more unique or a bit more the same. Or a little more anything at all." (Terra)