i am weary. i'm weary about many things. like if i should stay in the laundromat for the duration of my clothes being cleansed in case a thief comes in. and about what the two yves klein blue butterflies meant in my dream last night that did a intricate mating dance then died in a sudden flit--a somehow delicate descent of death from the top of a weathered wooden pole into the webbed bushes of obscurity. or whether or not i should make another cup of coffee. or give zora another helping of cat food, because she's meowing but growing fat. or if i should tell you. or scry into a crystal ball. or if you already know. or if it's you that is this groove i'm incessantly tracing in my shaky palm. i'm just weary, darlin'. so weary..