my nails have grown a foot in a week and the ridges and white spots are gone, they look like I've been working on them but I haven't at all. I'm stunned kinda by how many little ways your (my) body can complain, can whine for attention with dry patches and slow-healing bruises and a stubborn sandbanking of fat that you don't need and can't get rid of and astringent-smelling hair and puffy eyes and nervous energy ft crash ft nervous energy ft crash ft nervous energy ft crash. that last complaint, an ache for napping between bouts of effort, that remains.

as for FPH, I feel like he chose not to survive, opted to get lopped out of me even though he wasn't what was making me sick. it is very hard, very disillusioning, I feel like calling his mother to make him get a puppy so I know he's okay but an unrenewed magazine subscription can't do that. this blog was one of the featured columns in the magazine. there is no reason for it to exist anymore. but, well, there's no reason for it not to exist either.