Year:2022, month:05

May 5th, 2022

This afternoon I embarked on my weekly pilgrimage from my apartment to the Hungarian Pastry Shop. I glided along the northern edge of Central Park on my bike, enjoying how the rough contours of cobblestone beneath my wheels jostled the frame — so much so that I had to loosen my usual chokehold grip on the handlebars, lest my brain rattle violently against my skull. I was pleased by this feeling not because it left any soothing impression on my arms or legs (quite to the contrary), but because it imposed upon me a reminder of how I should try to operate in this world. For various reasons, I hold a concerning amount of tension in my body: whenever I write with a pencil or pen, I grip the barrel so firmly that my hand begins to cramp far too quickly and a permanent writer’s bump has grown on the left side of my middle finger; I tense my shoulders in any circumstance, even when carrying out a task of as little consequence as lifting a feather; my teeth and jaw are often clenched as if I am…