The existential dread continues to build as I pass through the dark heart of June. I sense that a single carefully placed charged of stress will be enough to bring the bridge down, cutting me off from the mainland. Hopelessness advances on all fronts, a shadow army with a goal I cannot imagine. Phone calls constantly incoming, missiles that light up my threat board. The grocery store an incomprehensible maze of choices, the cereal aisle, especially, a gallery of terror. Outside my apartment I meet a bare-chested tattooed man, breaking the cycle momentarily. He promises strangeness from the days that have become the same day. Inside there are gnats everywhere. My Inbox has been empty all day. I can hear it snoring, conserving its energy for Monday when it will rear up, unhinge its jaw and roar, furnace-like.