cut out a sample slice of me and count my rings. at my healthiest i draw... at my most screwed-up, i write. well, i always write but it's more lucid and rife with substance when i'm in bad places. oak trees have thin rings because they grow slowly and are full of tensile strength. willow trees hahve thick rings because they grow quickly and are sort of soft and sway just so.

in general, a season which is comprised of conditions which are beneficial to a tree's growth will produce a thicker ring than those seasons that are desolate and barren or inundated with negative conditions. does this in turn mean that better days mean a weaker constitution?

i fell asleep at the end of that last sentence for an hour.

i slept with the light on and my eyes stinging. they're still stinging... i'm layering on thin rings and thinking about other times... swallowing so hard that the cartillage in my throat clicks in my ears and jumps at the underside of my chin. the prickled fabric of my skin rippling just above as my jaw clenches and unclenches. my eyelids wilt and darken and fall like leaves, budding overnight and anticlimactically building in the morning. i don't face the day so much as accept its inception as some bland inevitability forced through the blinds in my forcefully darkened room. my disinterest is reflected in the fact that i'll stare blankly at nothing on the ceiling for an hour before i realize that i have ceased to dream.