there are five and a half blankets piled on the end of my bed and if you're wondering how i can have half of a blanket
(well it's a long story but rest assured it's not complete.)
in any case i've tried all of them and none of them are managing to make me feel any better.
tomorrow i will turn on the printer and attempt to salvage what's left of the collective innocence of this thwarted generation.
doubt i'll get very far but i can claim what most can't and that my dear friends is a little thing called courage.
(scratch that i'm still afraid.)
in fact i could write a long and boring list of all of my typical and irrational fears.
(but i won't bother because i trust that you have enough imagination to cook up a few for yourself.)
i'm trying to tie up every hanging thread but i've been trying for so long that i might give up.
i remember this one time a long time ago when you yelled you really yelled over some stupid frying pan that i hadn't washed or something.
no it was definitely a frying pan i remember that and i will die by the fact it was a frying pan.
once in awhile when someone's mad i stand there woodenly and feel disturbingly unsafe and i think about how i didn't wash that frying pan and maybe if i had washed that frying pan when you asked neither one of us would have a few thousand pounds of suppressed anger inside.
i know i just know you're mad and i know you know that i'm mad whether or not i'm willing to admit that i'm really mad which i'm not.
(but i am by the way.)
i'm hitting the breaking away but i'm hitting it late and i'm hitting it hard.
like an overly confident concrete wall.
back to the printer and tomorrow i would hope
(and i would also pray if i happened to be the praying type)
(but i am not the praying type)
that you all know that the very stubborn streak in me that could turn out to be my most valuable asset is also the thing that will promptly and rather unceremoniously deploy a bomb.
*(just thought i should remind you that in every strength lies the ***** in the armor.)