I was in crisis and I was evading it. I was in trouble and instead of confronting the trouble I was pulling the curtains closed on the part of my mind that wanted to name it out loud. To name anything out loud seemed unbearable to me that winter. To name anything out loud meant having to make choices, to be definite; I found it easier to trail off in the middle of any sentence that seemed likely to reach a point. Easier to stay within the margins of a safe semi-oblivion, around whose edges things kept erasing themselves.
