1. A forsaken thing hides sadly where it used to be; but you can go back there again.

2. There’s no place for you to rest your head. You can test this anytime: close your eyes and wait.

3. The road gets ever steeper: no step will be easier than the last.

4. There’s glass on the floor and you can’t help being barefoot; and broken hearts never heal.

5. These rules won’t help you.

Two weeks. Two weeks and a day with no pressing deadlines and no urgent phone calls and no news, stuck in the middle of Manhattan, a place perhaps as non-New Englandy as you can possibly get. The noise of the city; the sheer volume of interesting distractions; the many babes coming and going in the little coffee shops where I’ll chat up strangers more than write. I figure there must be a nexus point in the depth of distraction. Dive deep enough and the noise will mellow, the fuzzy unrest melt and all that will be left is a single white point of pure lucidity. Many men have searched for it and some were left forever scarred by their failures. But I will find it. I am fearless and desperate.

This is what I need.

A week. A week with no emails and work and friends and any notion of other people, other souls in the world. It could be a week out of every year. Every half-year. Every month. Or just next week.

A house in New England. It doesn’t have to be mine, just mine for that week.

The house would be surrounded by a modest, empty patch of land — modest only in New England terms; empty only by my urban standards. It would be musty, rolling, and trees will stand there; the kind you can sit beneath if you’re not wearing anything expensive. I wouldn’t. There would be a lake, and it will be mysterious and more that I would explore full of old things that were thrown in, that were spat out, that were carved in stones on its tiny beach. There would be gloomy patches where the sun never seems to really light, and they would be especially gloomy and frightening and exciting when the sun hangs low and pale in gray skies over the steely surface of the lake.
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