I am superstitious. Superstitious enough that I am washing a particular towel all by itself and not with my (similarly colored) sheets. Superstitious enough to have smudge sticked the towel several times.

Superstitious enough to think it A Sign that I violently threw an implement of harm left here down the back staircase so I could be rid of its energy and involuntarily stepped on it this morning (logic says: this is not A Sign, because the back staircase is in your house and you walk down it sometimes and if you were really getting rid of the knife you would have done something else - and while we're thinking about that, how would you go about really getting rid of anything, around here? Even at the bottom of Lake Erie doesn't feel really gone. This is why you always want to be running away, because there is never a feeling of clean slate available to you, here).