A low-level funk is like a low-grade fever, in that it leaves you far more uncomfortable without the dramatic cleansing blaze of a fully feverish kiln-bake. Being semi-blue lingers. My body even feels it. I don’t like mid-range. I don’t even put fans on Medium, it’s go full-blast or go off altogether. This is the having of an itch you can’t find. You chase it listlessly for the sweet small relief of scratching, but wherever you go it vanishes from your fingertips and you’re left twitchy and dissatisfied. I need a purifying burn, a rake over the coals. I think it’s mostly the silly suburban allergies complaint. New spring life brings chartreuse tender leaves but also great phosphor clouds of prickly yellow mini-stars invading all my soft and vulnerable places. I wish I could sneeze.