Four pairs of scissors for 4:00 am. Four pairs of scissors for The Voice of Distinction's known children. A picture of scissors because I can't sleep for identity panic and scissors are something I know rock steady. I went into the woods but I tattooed myself should I be lost. "Return St. Renegade to God." If everything else about me changes, the Saint I was marked the Saint I became.

"Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster."

The only upside of watching a horrible Cameron Diaz movie about sisters was that Cameron read Elizabeth Bishop's poem "One Art" to a dying old man. This was during the humbling phase of the movie in which she changes her life and becomes a better person. My suspicion right now is that 1) I am not actually being filmed and therefore cannot guarantee the proper narrative arc and also 2) were I being filmed, this would be my humbling montage, and I don't know what is coming next, because what if I don't end up a better person?

I have ridiculous worries. I worry that if I come to know myself I will unearth a love of money, violent pornography, or cruelty to waitstaff. These kinds of patently ridiculous worries keep me up at night. That and poverty and the anxiety provoked in me by men, and I think I should be exercising this meat machine I was born into, discharging bile and impure thoughts and other various and sundry. Where can you buy a medicine ball at 4:00 am? Time for some 1920s style calisthenics, sissies.

With regards to sainthood, and my neglected legacy, it is time to concern myself with miracles. From the internet, I read that "Most Americans who pray for miracles ask for cures—for themselves or for loved ones. Indeed, half of those polled (50 percent) credit God with bringing back to life people who have been declared dead by medical authorities." This will take some concentrating, maybe some squat thrusts and lunges, some serious scissor flexing and midnight typing. I will need to be well rested. All of the scissors I polled (100 percent) agreed that it is time for me to try and sleep again.