I don’t know what to think anymore.

Here’s the thing: I managed to get through the entire semester without getting the various plagues that decimated the student population at CU Boulder, including the students in my class and in the production of 44 Plays for 44 Presidents I directed. It was like magic. But now: now I have a cold. I don’t want this cold. Who does, right? There is no magic.

A coincidence: a perigee-syzygy. A broken everything, systems built to be torn down. Weeds and tractor parts. Limbs and hemispheres and chambers. All asunder. I’m done with you, 2016.

We’re pioneers my dear, press on / (pull the trigger)