When I got out of grad school, I thought I would be a teacher. I went on SSI. It was the summer of sangria and cards, of serotonin sanitaria sangria schizophrenia. It was the summer I decided my life was over. It was the summer I got a book deal and lost the will to live. It was the summer I got a blue rat baby and regained it.

Summer. I read the philosophy of Andy Warhol every morning and felt blank.