638 days, 11 hours, 53 minutes, 22 seconds

First she lectured her husband on the benefits of Echinacea. Then she gave him one of the two bottles she had. Then she finished her bottle. Then she bought a new bottle in Sacramento. Then she came home and took the bottle she gave him from the kitchen up to the bathroom where he can't find it. She hasn't unpacked yet.

638 days, 12 hours, 21 minutes, 35 seconds

That's the Particle museum she could have sworn Mary said, pointing to a round building visible from a park at the top of Marin Dr., overlooking the Bay Bridge and the Golden Gate. This is where the Manhattan Project started, where they split the first particles. It's part of UC Berkeley's astrophysics department now. And maybe not a museum, or at least not open to the public. That was nine days ago now, hard to remember the description exactly. Her head splitting.

638 days, 12 hours, 32 minutes, 46 seconds

A bomb is a bomb is a bomb. There are so many bombs. Last night, for example. Her head splitting. She took Percocet for the first time in three years, and it was nearly midnight. Resting awhile, working awhile. She read old email, then two migraine articles, an article on the homeless, an article on a Long Island man who collects Pinocchio figurines . Finally the pain almost gone. The nausea set in then. God knows how out of date those pills might have been. Can't sit here worrying.

638 days, 12 hours, 53 minutes, 12.9 seconds

Baghdad Police
Station Hit By Car
Bomb
The headline says. Read it as poetry, a pause t the end of each line, bomb on a line by itself. So many interruptions. A car hits the police station and bombs. The car hits the station and the bomb goes off. Or bombs, fails to go off. The Baghdad police stage, station, or plan the hit. Break a leg actors are told before a performance. 52 minutes, 0.3 seconds now. The clock's ticking. Can't sit here worrying about what or where the next bomb might be, especially when they seem to have brought this on themselves.