Chapter 2

refocillate
to refresh; to revive.

A long time ago I was in eleventh grade physics. We learned there that if you attach a pencil to a weight on a spring, drop the weight, and move a paper along beside the pencil, you observe a sinusoid. Gravity and restoration act as twin brothers, tugging fruitlessly on a rope. Given a frictionless environment, their conflict will continue, undecided, forever.

A frictionless world may be impossible, but the bearings of my life are well oiled. I doubt my own oscillations will end before I do.

It's been two months since I gave up writing each day, but I feel compelled back to it. My small thoughts here built one upon another to a maximum, attained halfway through the story of Heliodoro and his demon, before my enthusiasm petered out. The curse and blessing of a middle class North American youth is an inability to focus on any one passion for long. Hopefully that will subside as adolescence does, but only time will tell whether I can finish a novel.

I have since made it through the downward arc of the harmonic and (I hope) am heading back up toward the stars. A friend to whom I owe a great deal told me to do something that makes me happy with my break from class. I would not dare disappoint her.

Thus begins chapter 2 of my footnotes.