I'm sitting in a papasan chair plush in cushion, with a glass of malbec resting on a wooden box I've tipped over.  There's subtle lighting strewn beneath the treefort of our loft bed. Father has just called to say that everything happens at once. Cancer is eating several people in the family. At the same time I ran up a long hill at dusk tonight, ran past an open concert at a lovely hotel, where people were relaxing drinking amber-colored cocktails. At the same time I did not do what I wanted to tonight, but instead I did things that were also good. The wine was bought. Also, a box of hostess cupcakes & I don't care what it means if I eat the whole box. At the same time, I am alone, and my father doesn't have enough money to buy a ticket to see his dying sister. At the same time I cannot for the life of me even slightly comprehend what I'm supposed to be doing. So I read Lolita for the first time. I'm going to leave one day. I just always hoped it would be with someone I loved, and not for the Great Find Yourself Independent Journey that devours most.