Found a little love note in a January notebook:

"I have things to learn. I used all my energy bouncing in an elastic swing. I use all my energy in my beehive head. We are busy making honey. For you. I make a lullaby for you. I make death metal polka. A wolf, a bee. I contemplate these aesthetics. I build mental Andy Goldsworthys with you. We go outside. We like it."

Boy do I miss that bed. I think my love life may be as dismal as Jim's. In fact, it may be worse. I haven't sold a thong to no one. Ever.