I’m just getting my ass together and in the process of resurrection. They call it waking up. I’m not going to call it that anymore. It doesn’t feel like waking up. It feels like I’m that monster of an 18 year old mother’s ghost story contest entry and the good doctor isn’t really “waking” me up at all. Thomas Edison could make a movie about it that gets lost for 80 years and then gets found with much excitement and then everyone sees that it’s too short and not such a great movie after all and it wouldn’t haven’t been so tragic if it’d stayed lost.

I’ll write more after I’m fully resurrected and I’ve had words with my second-hand creator. Originally we were only supposed to have one wife, one car, and one creator. Suffrage and Sappho got the first one. Henry Ford and Tokyo got the second. I think human beings will fix god’s wagon too someday. I wish I could be the geneticist who gets to echo it to the ceiling of St. Peter’s: “God! I’m a’gonna fix your wagon!” Writing is quite boring. I think you can see that DNA research would be a thrill.