I’m two or three (moderately heady) beers drunk on an empty stomach. I’m in bed. It’s about 7pm, and I want to sleep. The Sun in shining through my window slats just perfectly so it hits me in the eye, but I’ve decided not to move away so that I could write about the light hitting me in the face.

I haven’t slept enough this April. I’ve been busy helping Madeline Owen with a mural in Capitol Hill off of Broadway. We’ve worked late into the night, and I wake up at 4am for work.

I have a lot to write about work.

ZADurday is coming up. (Zack/Andy/Dan). Birthdays. We’re going to get eat oysters and get drunk on beer that cost more than decent wine but also Coors or Budheavy.

My 29th birthday is coming up. In theory, I should be panicking (or maybe the panic is supposed to start next year, and I am allowed one more year of denial.) Instead, I feel okay. I feel like I am on the right path. I have panicked enough already. I have looked forward enough—or maybe too much. Now, I\’m t/here.

I am not in love with the beauty and freedom of youth. Beauty and freedom exist independently of youth.

I don\’t know if I have ever been this far behind on sleep and yet felt this okay. (This isn\’t mania; this is meaningful experience that is keeping me going.)

There are many Andy\’s.

As time goes on, they are becoming more unified.

I am becoming more acquainted with the Pantheon.

Onward, Hermes; guide this wayward soul.

Hello, Aphrodite.

Aries rises.

Hephaestus nods.

Apollo thinks that…

One of these days, many days from now, I am going to re-read Jung, and have a deeper understanding of mythology, and my mind will be absolutely blown. But also I will have a lot of input and corrections for him. Reinterpretations. Additions.

Mythology isn’t over. It is still being.