I don't know where it begins, nor where it ends. I'm no sure how I'll be able to grab the slippery little red line I so devotedly tied around my wrist many weeks ago (and so gracefully dropped in the Atlantic to watch it sink to the bottom). I'll think of something, once this gets out of my body. It's just a little hard climbing up on top of the mountain again with an infection weighing you down, slowing your roll, and frankly it's getting a bit boring down here now.
Goal: Dive to the bottom of the Atlantic and pick up the red line. Throw the infection in the garbage.
Deadline: Next week.
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