Things seem strange to me right now: unusually bad. Death in my family, and my neighborhood, and all my friends have broken hearts. I am speeding toward a cliff myself. But it's too late to stop, fueled by an intense fantasy. Winter is just about right then; it's time to retreat, allow my loneliness something real to cling to, instead of vagary and unrooted malaise. I don't feel weak though, just weathered. This is likely to change if I do end up off that cliff; not sure my hope parachutte will open anymore.