Begin here. My cuticles are a mess. My heart is a mess. My house is a mess. My C.V. is a mess. My sense of time and space is a mess. It’s time to wind the clocks back up, and I have dirty dishes in the kitchen, emails to return, articles to write, readings to conduct, clothes to launder, a larder to fill. I’m not sure what to eat, what to drink, where to go, what to say. I’m not sure what to do at all but I know I can’t do nothing. So I put on rubber gloves, fill the sink with soapy hot water, and begin here.