It is still the first week in November, and I’ve got great plans. I’ve been thinking about water. There is water nearly everywhere, ubiquitous ghosts and hidden moisture. The world is fairly soaked and sunk in puddles pooled in the air without permission from gravity. But—and this is the point—who feels suffocated by water? If you jump from one puddle to the next, if you swim madly down the sidewalk to get to class where you’ll sit in a desk and soak in the exhalation of others who are inhaling your own moisture, will you count that breath a choking of your lungs only, and go your own way? It is dire dimness indeed when a man is so dense and senseless that he won’t run out to the mountains to take a breath of fresh air. But if you feel a sensible senselessness and insanity, so that taking a breath will literally sustain your life, then since the world is in fact soaked with water, you have with your insanity converged upon a lifetime of breathing. It is that simple. What you breath is what you get.