Day 11 draws to a close. I was eating dinner at five guys tonight on my way to this art opening, because that’s how I roll, with a little bit of dried ketchup in the corner of my mouth, on my way to go look at John Cage’s desk, and I was wondering why I put myself through shit like this. I have a real eloquent answer about how when you’re, like, rounding that last corner in a footrace and you feel like you’re going to die but then it dawns on you that you’re about to finish, well, it’s a good moment. Maybe on like February 26, which is two weeks away I’ll feel like that. More likely though is that I’ll want to quit and have a beer and a nap and dream about girls and about riding horses mongolia with a fur hat on and a golden eagle swooping overhead.