life after death...

or after deathly internships. while the body finds itself unburdened, less clammy, there are questions of general health. will i mold these next three months, falling prey to sloth and long days of nothingness. does the 9-5 gain new appeal in the months following escape? to preempt and arrest the fulfillment of these pejorative forecasts, i've decided to premeditate happiness, to be forward thinking, to answer small challenges. like tatiana, the russian that lives on rue de l'esplanade. she pours bleach on rats swirling around in her toilet; she picks out tree branches that would be "perfect for hanging" under Stalin's rule; she fears the black man. she also, incidentally, pays for passers-by to carry her groceries up the stairs to her second-story apartment. i've left her a little note in her mailbox inviting her to call me for assistance. at this point in time, i'd do it for two dollars.

but in the meantime, i'm going to sautee up some spinach and spend the afternoon experimenting with culinary expression.