I figured out today that my life has lost its coherence. It has disarticulated itself and now I feel like a man reeling dazed after an explosion, not quite aware that he has lost a limb but looking about for it nonetheless.
So: I'm sitting in a hotel in Miramichi, finding out that, instead of returning home for a long stretch of office work and high-volume phone
sales calls, I'll be flying out to San Fransisco with a crew to interview people: a) in a maximum-security penitentiary; b) in a strip club; and c) under a bridge (the last because our third interviewee is a homeless guy). In my off-hours I'll be keeping the hyperactive director from getting himself into unimaginable trouble. Another stamp on my passport, another ventricle damaged.