And then you remember you love it. You loveitloveitloveit. But one night everything comes back to you and the fingers are restless again. The eyes sting because you move them too fast and too slow all at once. And you hate it. Everything collects at the bottom of your stomach to remind you how much you hateithateithateit because you forgot what it felt like in its absence. Now you can only hopehopehope that it can go away just to be back when you have vaguely forgotten its texture. Everything is leaving you and smothering you all at once and you're Alice - smaller and smaller and bigger and bigger. Nothing fits in, so you wait it out until you drift between consciousness and something painless and remote. You've done nothing and everything waits on you and you want to finish it all at once - but you don't want to even touch it. So you swing back and forth where it's most precarious and tense and stressing. Where are those notes that you left yourself from the last time ...