1985, it seems like a square root or something, I know before it was one year and after it another, and yet it doesn't really reside in temporal sequence. I remember that James was working at Hasbro and came up to visit and get away, and I think we bought the big black-&-white TV then that only seemed to get Maude. I remember that we lived in the basement on St. Stephen Street that didn't get any sunlight and all the houseplants died, and I'd never lived in a place with cockroaches like that, having only lived in the roachless worlds of 1) the suburbs 2) college and 3) Switzerland and yet 1985 doesn't seem much further away than living in Jackson, than watching The Flintstones after school as a kid, than the last time I saw Jim or even Jim, less than a year ago. I'm not sure if this addled perception of time is a benefit of a aging or a result of drug use, if it be love or just confusion.
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